


Becoming Granger

by insomnikat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fred Lives, Ron Dies, charlie weasley and hermione granger, fred and george weasley - Freeform, hermione granger grows up, hermione granger/fred weasley - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-03-10 15:20:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3295205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insomnikat/pseuds/insomnikat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione's mother once told her, 'every end holds a new beginning'. What if Rowling had gone through with her plan and knocked off Ron? What would happen to Hermione? This will, gradually, be Fremione to some degree.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The end is the beginning

The first snow of the season fell fluffy and soft outside the café window. The forest, still red-gold in full autumn bloom, was now traced with lines of silver and white. A few kilometres beyond, the forest rose with the dark silhouette of a steeply curved mountain, its majestic peak reaching into the clouds and disappearing in the snowy haze. She mused that, on a clearer day, she might have seen the outline of a grand Bavarian castle on its peak. Indeed, on a clearer day, the café would probably have been buzzing with tourists. But today it was relaxingly quiet, with only a handful of patrons and the occasional cackle coming from the nearby fireplace. Hermione had taken a relatively secluded corner of the café for herself and curled up in an old armchair by a window, cupping a mug of sweetly spiced, mulled wine in both her hands. She took a sip of her warm drink and replaced the book she had on the nearby table with it.

 _Yes,_ she smiled to herself. _This was a most perfect moment._ As if on cue, a café employee came to her table and placed a generous slice of marzipan cake beside her mulled wine. Hermione thanked him, opened the book in her lap, and began to read.

***

 

It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

All her meticulous planning and hard work completely shot because of one _ridiculous_ oversight. Ridiculous because it had seemed, for the longest time, so impossible. They were the invincible three, after all. Harry the hero, she the brains, and Ron…

_Ron…_

She wasn’t there when he fell. Their bond had been strong-- shouldn’t she have felt it snap? When her eyes found him amongst the still and broken figures being gathered in the Hogwarts courtyard, she’d only felt a sudden emptiness. Like a black hole had suddenly sucked her heart from her chest and left a single thought in its place: _this wasn’t part of the plan._

See, she’d had it all sorted out for _years_ \-- ever since she’d attached herself to the boys in their first weeks in Hogwarts. She’d seen how brilliant they were together and decided it should always be that way: the three of them, inseparable, undefeatable, and unstoppable against anything that chose to oppose them. The Three Musketeers, she’d romanticized, loyal to the end to Dumbledore and to each other. Together, they would raise the army to defeat Voldemort. Together, they would save everyone. And afterwards, she would continue to fight the good fight, helping to shape a newer and brighter wizarding world from within the Ministry. The boys would do the same, of course, probably as Aurors. One day, even, she might get married and have children of her own to take to the Platform of 9 and 3/4.

That was the plan, anyway, and Ron had fit so perfectly into it. How else would she ensure the three of them would always be together? The boys, she knew, would always be best mates. It was just how boys were, and she envied the simplicity. As they grew up, however, it became increasingly apparent that she couldn’t pass as ‘just one of the boys’. Those _ridiculous_ grade-school rules! Perhaps, then, her crush on Ron had evolved from a zealous desire to hold on to him. Ensure their relationship, whatever it ended up being, never drifted apart with time. His wandering eye in the latter half of their Hogwarts years certainly gave her many restless nights of worry. But he came around eventually. Ron was a bit dense when it came to relationships, but Hermione liked to believe he understood that they were better together than they were apart. And for a few brilliant moments, her wonderful plan was realized _perfectly_.

That is, until he mucked it up. Not even a proper goodbye. That bright and brilliant future she’d planned so carefully for them gone… forever.

She must’ve run to his side because the next thing she knew, she was kneeling over his motionless form and screaming.

_Git! You complete git!_

Tears streamed down her face. _You useless PRAT! Insensitive wart!_

Angrily, Hermione had punched him hard in the chest. The gasps and stunned faces around her were drowned by her anguished wail when he did not respond.

_Get up! You’re ruining EVERYTHING. GET UP!_

She made to hit him again but several arms grabbed her from behind and pulled her up and away, kicking and screaming.

Why had she even tried so hard with him? Had she _love_ loved him, or loved that he fit so well into her plans? Maybe there shouldn't have been so many tries; so many tears and forgiveness because she hadn't wanted to lose him. Maybe she only did what she did because, deep down, she’d always known he could be lost. His insecurities had always made him their weakest link-- there was no reason to deny that now.

Maybe she could’ve helped him in time, inspire him to be the man she knew he could be.

Maybe it was all just some hopeful wish fulfilment.

Either way, her mother was right: it had been a girl’s fanciful dream. A little, know-it-all girl who thought she had Life figured out by the age of 18, and whom Life decided to let know the hard way that she totally _did NOT_.

Either way, the beautiful fairytale had come to its end. The beast was vanquished; the kingdom restored. And the Great Trio was no more. _But every end holds a new beginning,_ her mother had told her when they were reunited and she held the quietly weeping Hermione in her arms.

After the Battle of Hogwarts, Hermione had slept and cried miserably for a week. A memorial was soon held for all who had fallen in the war. Hermione was rigid and silent throughout the ceremony, her eyes too red and too raw by that time to shed any more tears. She watched from a distance as Harry and the remaining Weasley family comforted each other. Ginny had seen her and detached herself from her mother’s side to talk to her, but Hermione slipped away before she could reach her.

She had set off almost immediately after, knowing only that she needed her own mother, and flew to Australia to find her parents and restore their memories. They never asked her about what happened. It was enough simply to know their daughter needed them. Every night for the next few weeks, one of them would come to her room and hold her in their arms -- sometimes reading one of her childhood storybooks -- until she fell asleep.

It was a few months before Hermione could wake up without a painful ache in her heart. Shortly after, just before her 19th birthday, a falcon (which was more common in Australia) delivered her a letter from Professor McGonagall inviting her to return and complete her N.E.W.T.s.

After inquiring if Harry would attend (he would not), Hermione acquiesced. It wasn’t like she had any other plans. Not anymore.

Her parents insisted on accompanying her. Hermione was secretly relieved that they did, and arranged for them a room at nearby Hogsmeade. The trip back to Hogwarts seemed strangely foreign to her. It wasn’t until the familiar towers of the castle came into view that she realized the bit of time and distance in Australia had given her a shocking new perspective— the world she knew was very, very _small_. Hogwarts, completely restored from the final battle in all its splendid glory, was actually very, very _small_.

She was so swept up with these new thoughts that she didn’t realize until it was too late that she had used the wrong entrance to the castle. She froze at the front of the courtyard, staring at the point where she had last seen Ron’s still figure. Students began to gather curiously around her, wondering if she’d been hexed. It was a few minutes before Professor McGonagall appeared and ushered her inside.

It was thus determined that Hermione did not need to stay in Hogwarts to complete her N.E.W.T.s. She studied from the rooms she shared with her parents and only came to Hogwarts to write the exams. On her way out from the last one, a magical pamphlet tore itself from the school’s announcement board and lodged itself like an arrow in Hermione’s hair. It read:

_Are you seeking a challenging career involving travel, adventure, and substantial, danger-related treasure bonuses? Then consider a position with Gringotts Wizarding Bank, who are currently recruiting Curse-Breakers for thrilling opportunities abroad._

It was very, very different from her original (and in hindsight, very mundane) plan to join the Ministry. It also, as it turned out, suited her skills perfectly. Arithmancy, Charms, Transfiguration, Ancient Runes and Defence Against the Dark Arts… Bill and Fleur Weasley arranged all the necessary paperwork for her and had greeted her with sweeping, congratulatory hugs when she was promptly offered the position at Gringotts.

Something new sparked inside Hermione when she signed hernameon the contract. Her world—so small and manageable until this point – was about to get so much bigger! She didn’thold back her excitement when she described the career to her parents as ‘Indiana Jones if he was a wizard’. She would be apprenticed around the world for a year, learning about international magic and everything there was to being a Curse-Breaker.

But there was a symbolic finality that came with signing the contract, too. To Hermione, it marked the official end of her life as part of The Legendary Three, and the official beginning of the rest of her life.

***

 

As Hermione turned a page of her book, a card slipped out and fell to the floor. She leaned forward and picked it up. Not for the first time today, she chuckled at the cover of the card. She had received it a few days ago by owl, on her birthday. The cover was a photo of her parents, both hanging by little more than a few hooks and nylon straps to a cliff side, birthday hats strapped on their heads and ridiculous smiles spread across their faces. Inside was another photo of her mother holding a koala, and her father’s hasty scribbling. _Happy birthday, darling! Your 20s is a time of great exploration, not certainty. So live well, enjoy fully, and experience as much as you can! We love you!_

Hermione pocketed the card and the book, stretched her legs out in front of her and yawned. The snow was still falling gently outside, but darkness had settled over the landscape. It was about time for her to head back to the hotel. She finished the remaining bites of her cake, gathered her things, and made her way towards the café exit. Hermione stopped to exchange a few polite words to the employee behind the counter when the café doors jingled, signalling the entrance of a new customer.

The first thing she noticed was a head of shockingly red hair dusted with snow. Piercing blue eyes immediately locked onto her from a rough, weather-beaten face. Hermione’s eyes widened and her lips formed a startled “O” as her heart lurched unexpectedly. The man who had walked in was, unmistakably, a Weasley. And for a split second, she had thought she’d seen a ghost.

“Ch-charlie?”

The man shook the snow out of his hair and – even though he was a full head taller than her -- grinned almost shyly at her. To Hermione, he was the most mysterious of the Weasley siblings. Of all the time she’d spent at The Burrows, she’d barely exchanged more than a few words in passing with him. What she’d completely forgotten, though, was that his rugged appearance and slightly sharper features made him look a lot like an older version of Ron, _if Ron had lived_.

“Wotcher,” he greeted Hermione cautiously, not sure how to interpret the expression that crossed briefly but unmistakably across her face. “Come to see the fireballs, have you?”

Hermione blinked. "Fire what?"

"Aye," Charlie glanced around the café hesitantly, took a step towards her and whispered, _"dragons."_


	2. Wotcher

Hermione huffed in frustration as she struggled in the knee-deep snow. What was she thinking, trekking up a Bavarian mountain in the middle of the night!? A few metres ahead, Charlie was waiting patiently with a rucksack over one shoulder.

“Come along, Granger!” he called encouragingly. “We’re almost there!”

“I don’t understand,” she began, exasperated, “why I can’t—“ Hermione yelped as her footing slipped but caught herself before falling. “just APPARATE!”

“Can’t risk the attention,” Charlie said simply. He came down to meet her halfway and held his hand out to her. She took it gratefully and immediately felt herself dragged up the extra few steps with ease. She soon found herself facing a small rocky ledge that came up to her chest.

She gasped in surprise as a pair of big, strong arms grabbed her from the waist and hoisted her over the ledge. Hermione turned to snap at Charlie indignantly, but had to roll away instead as he pulled himself up after her.

“Besides,” he grinned at her, his face flushed and beaming. “Isn’t this fun?”

Hermione shook her head in disbelief. They continued a few moments longer before they reached a small clearing. A small tent stood discretely on one side while a lone figure stood on the edge of another overlooking the valley.

“Spotted them yet?” Charlie called out.

“Yeah!” the figure turned and, upon seeing that Charlie wasn’t alone, trotted over to them. Under the moonlight, Hermione noticed a wisp of red hair peaking from under a thick woollen cap and yet another, unmistakeable Wesley smile.

“Blimey, it’s Hermione!”

She squealed with delight as she was lifted off the ground in a big hug. Hermione squeezed back warmly and giggled. “It’s good to see you too, George.”

The younger Weasley took a step back from her and looked her over appraisingly. “Hmm, there’s something odd about you.”

Hermione raised a brow questioningly and crossed her arms across her chest. “Oh?”

George clasped a hand on Charlie’s shoulder and nodded towards her. “Don’t you agree, brother of mine?”

Charlie looked at Hermione, saw her eyes narrow with suspicion, then looked at George. “I’m sure—“

“Ooh, is that dinner!?” George interrupted and took a big sniff of the rucksack behind Charlie. “IT IS! I’m starving!”

George took the bag, grabbed Hermione by the hand, and pulled her excitedly towards the tent.

“I don’t mean to pry,” Hermione started, “but aren’t there usually two of you?”

“Usually,” he smiled.

“So?”

“So, what?”

George dropped her hand and turned with mock-hurt on his face. “Ah. You disappoint me, Granger! Are you implying that because I’m a twin, I can’t also be a unique and wholly independent person with independent actions?”

“I’m so sorry, George!” Hermione blushed with embarrassment, “I didn’t mean…”

“I know,” he flashed her a signature Weasley smile and opened the tent door for her. “I was just kidding.”

She stepped into the unsurprisingly roomy interior of the magical tent as George yelled over her head, “Oi, Fred! Two galleons says you can’t guess what Charlie brought back with him from the village!”

“Is it A GIRL?!”

George cursed loudly in confirmation. A victorious laugh filled the tent before the source appeared across from them. Unlike everyone else, Fred had on a simple white tee and pajama pants. His hair was damp, his feet bare, and a towel was draped over one shoulder. His eyes fell on Hermione and his whole face lit up anew.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes!” He rushed over and sweeped her up in a big hug, spinning her around playfully. “Hermione Granger! We meet again!”

Hermione sighed dramatically as she was put gingerly back on her feet. “Thrilling as always, Fred.”

The grin lingered on Fred’s lips as George, who’d removed his jacket in the meantime, stepped forward to hand him two gold coins. But Fred shook his head _no_ , strands of damp red hair falling over eyes that looked over Hermione unabashedly. _Déjà vu_ , she thought silently.

“We’ve been mistaken, George. Hermione isn’t a girl.”

Blood rushed immediately to her cheeks. “Hey!”

Fred jumped behind her before she could lash out at him and placed both hands on her shoulders, squeezing. “This here, is a lady.”

George laughed and snapped his fingers. “That’s it! That’s what was odd!”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “You’re both impossible.”

“-ly handsome,” Fred hissed in her ear and pulled away, just out of her reach. “We know!” He jumped into the next room and Hermione gave chase.

“Be careful, Fred—“

There was the sound of pillows flying across the room and a table being knocked over.

“Why?”

“She’s dangerous now.”

“And she wasn’t before!?”

George yelped and closed his eyes as Fred ran and hid behind him. Hermione reappeared in the main entrance, her left arm raised menacingly in their direction.

“Crickey! She’s mastered wandless magic!”

“Curse-breaker!”

“Curse-breaker!” Fred repeated with a nervous laugh. His eyes locked with Hermione’s, and despite himself, he said it again with a deeper, huskier voice. _“Curse-breaker.”_

A shiver ran down Hermione’s spine.

“You haven’t antagonized our guest already, have you?” Charlie appeared behind them and shrugged off his coat. He made an annoyed _Tch!_ when he noticed Hermione was still wearing her jacket and offered to take it for her. “Mum would be upset if she knew you failed in hospitality,” he casually scolded his younger brothers.

The twins hung their heads in shame and muttered a half-hearted apology.

“It’s alright,” Hermione said. “I wasn’t _really_ angry. It would be a sad day indeed when Fred and George can be called _mature_.”

And to that, much to the twins’ dismay, she and Charlie laughed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I hope you've enjoyed this so far. Now that I've introduced my main characters, I'll be proceeding to what will probably be a slow-burn, getting-to-know-you story.


	3. Dance of the liondragons

Hermione reclined in the big arm chair and folded her legs casually in her seat. She placed an elbow on the table beside her and propped her head on her hand with mild curiosity. The three men were standing opposite her, with a blank scroll spread open on the table, fussing over some potion ingredients.

“Do you have them?”

Charlie pulled two translucent red discs from his pocket and handed one to each of his brothers. George held his disc up to the light for a moment and whistled in admiration.

“What are you doing with dragon scales?” asked Hermione.

Simultaneously, the same mischievous smile appeared on the three Weasley faces. Fred pulled out his wand and tapped the scroll lightly with its tip. “ _Open sesame!”_

Hermione rolled her eyes and Fred shrugged. “It’s a work in progress.”

Thick, topographical lines suddenly revealed themselves on the paper and, to Hermione’s surprise, raised off the paper into a familiar mountain range. A miniature forest bloomed at its base as snow sprinkled like sugar frosting on the entire scroll.

Fred watched Hermione’s eyes widen in amazement and smiled smugly. “We wanted to make a Marauder’s map outside of Hogwarts,” he explained while mixing a potion together with the ingredients in front of him. Beside him, George was doing the same. “We added a bit more colour though…”

“—and dimensions!”

“’Cause Charlie reckoned it’d be more profitable--“

 _“Useful,”_ the older Weasley corrected.

“--for tracking larger creatures.”

Fred and George nodded to each other and dropped their scales into the potions. The concoction hissed and glowed red. A moment later, a miniature red dragon climbed out of each potion bowl and flew towards the map.

“Oh,” the golden fringe around their tiny heads jogged Hermione’s memory at last. “Chinese Fireballs! But I don’t understand—“ she turned to Charlie questioningly. “What are they doing in Bavaria?”

Charlie leaned over the map, eyes bright with excitement as the miniature dragons flew casually across the map. “We’ll see soon enough.”

“In the meantime—“

Fred and George started towards the other side of the tent. “How about dinner?”

“Yes, please.”

Hermione got up to follow but George held up his hand and shook his head. “Keep an eye on the map, Granger. We’ll bring the food along.”

She raised her brow suspiciously. “Trust us,” Fred winked.

Hermione watched them leave and returned to the table to stand beside Charlie, who was still following the miniature red creatures carefully. “If they continue through the valley here,” he pointed to an area of forest just ahead of the creatures, “the female should spot them.”

“Three dragons!” exclaimed Hermione nervously. “In one place? Isn’t that a bit dangerous?” From the little she’d read and seen of dragons, they were aggressive and fiercely territorial.

Charlie’s eyes lifted from the map to her and he smiled reassuringly. “Normally, yes. But fireballs are more tolerant than other dragons.”

“I still don’t understand what they—all of you, for that matter—are doing here. I mean, how did you know _I’d_ be here? I’m on holidays! I was just passing through.”

To her surprise, Charlie’s face flushed. “Well,” he began, slightly embarrassed. “We didn’t know you were _here,_ exactly…”

“Ginny said you might come this way,” George interrupted brightly. He was carrying four takeaway bags in his arms. Fred was behind him carrying four glasses and a large pitcher, with a gift-wrapped bundle tucked discretely under one arm.

“And Mum told us if we saw you—“

“--WHEN we saw you, to invite you over for the holidays.”

“Oh,” Hermione’s gaze faltered for a moment. “But that’s still two months away! I’m not sure…”

“To clarify,” Fred cut in sharply, “we’re not allowed to take no for an answer.”

“In fact, we just sent an owl telling her you’ll be coming.”

Hermione’s mouth dropped open in silent horror. “You did not!”

“C’mon Granger,” Fred nudged her playfully. “You’ve missed us, we can tell.”

Hermione felt the blood rush to her cheeks. She hadn’t seen Molly Weasley since the funeral. In fact, she hadn’t seen much of Harry, Ginny, or any of the Weasleys since she’d started working. It wasn’t that she was purposely avoiding them so much as she was reluctant to return to certain places. Places that still evoked strong feelings about the past, about Ron, and the plans that could’ve been. The Burrows was exactly such a place.

Hermione was yanked from her thoughts when Fred pushed the bundle he’d been holding into her hands. “This is also from Mum.”

She looked up at Fred, George, and Charlie feeling somewhat confused.

Charlie smiled warmly at her and nodded at the wrapped present in her hands. “Happy birthday, Hermione.”

The men opened their sandwich bags and began eating while she unwrapped the bundle. Inside was a knitted lavender scarf with an H embroidered at the end.

“You should put it on,” Fred smirked. “Complete our set.”

She noticed then that all three of them had similar scarves either around their neck or stuffed in a pocket. Charlie coughed suddenly and pointed at the map. “They’re close!”

Everyone gathered around the map and looked down. “Close to what, exactly?” said Hermione.

Charlie pointed to a ridge that the dragons were fast approaching. There were three of them now. “Us.”

“Wicked!” the twins exclaimed. They grabbed their coats and started immediately towards the door. Charlie went after them, motioning Hermione to follow.

“You won’t want to miss this,” he said as he helped her with her coat.

The cold night air nipped at her face the moment she stepped out and she was glad she had put on the new scarf. Fred and George were already at the other end of the clearing, looking down on the valley. Hermione made her way towards them through the snow, Charlie close behind her. After only a few steps though, George turned to them and waved frantically. He made some odd gestures that befuddled Hermione and she stopped in her tracks. Fred suddenly turned and jumped onto his brother, toppling them both into the snow. A large red blur immediately flashed over the edge of the clearing with a loud _WOOSH_ followed by two relatively smaller and brighter blurs. As they rose higher into the night sky, their forms took clearer shapes. Hermione felt a hand fall on her shoulder and squeeze. “Aren’t they marvellous?” Charlie’s breath tickled her ear.

Hermione watched in awe as the three streaks of red seemed to dance and twirl around each other, almost playfully, with the occasional flashes of gold caught by the moonlight. She began to notice that the two smaller dragons were constantly trying to circle the larger one, but it kept slipping out of their reach. She turned to ask Charlie about it, but saw right away from the glazed and starry look in his eyes that he was completely in the moment. “Simply marvellous,” he sighed.

He then began talking on his own, his eyes never straying from the dancing dragon in the moonlight, explaining the intricacies of dragon social behaviour. Hermione smiled. Of course, dragons were Charlie’s passion. Not many people could understand that, but she knew a thing or two about being completely absorbed and devoted to something. She admired people like that. _Kindred spirits._

She slipped her hand into his and gave it a light squeeze.


	4. The proposition

The next morning found Hermione on a train heading west. She had a few days left in her holiday and she was determined to spend some of that time as a normal, young Muggle backpacking through Europe. Looking around as she took a seat in the restaurant cart, she was pleased to see a few others who looked like they had similar intentions.

To say travelling was therapeutic was putting it mildly. It was one part escapism, one part self-reinvention for her. Each morning, she awoke in a new and distant place. Each morning, she felt a little bolder, a little stronger, and a lot less like the wallflower she used to be.

She yawned and rubbed at her half-opened eyes. The excitement of seeing Weasleys and dragons last night made her sleep rather restless.

Charlie had just reminded her _so much_ of Ron. He embodied everything she imagined Ron could've been-- kind, attentive, and completely unreserved about his feelings for something he was passionate for.

She shivered involuntarily as her mind locked for the hundredth time onto the _could’ve been_. Sure, time and distance had lessened the emotional ache. But doubt and guilt had grown unbidden in its place.

Ron had been so emotionally insecure. In hindsight, it really wasn’t healthy and directly contributed to her own insecurities.

He’d been volatile and clumsy.

He’d purposely made her cry.

He’d been her choice, anyway.

And he’d loved her the best he could.

That was where the guilt was deeply rooted for Hermione. Every passing day made her doubt that what she had felt for Ron in return, truly felt for Ron independent of the grand plan, had been nothing more than a fleeting high school crush. Hormones, at the crudest. On a long-term scale, their relationship would have been rocky at best. She had no doubt he’d disapprove of her choice in career. And yet she _knew_ he’d use a ridiculous double-standard to justify his own as an Auror.

Just imagining the ensuing argument made her blood boil. She’d since matured and become disillusioned enough to realize that a relationship described as a ‘turbulent, whirlwind romance’ was only good for the partner who got the published book deal, movie adaptation, or hit breakup song when it ended.

A full minute passed before she realized her wallowing had not gone unnoticed. A young man sitting at the bar was watching her, piercing blue eyes staring from beneath a head of softly curling auburn hair. He was tall, clearly athletic, and matinee handsome with his sun-kissed complexion. Curiosity with a hint of concern was etched on his already sharp features. Hermione sat up in alarm and turned to face the window, partially concealing her face from his view as she reigned in her feelings.

Rule one for curse-breakers: be confident with yourself. Failing that, never give up the appearance of confidence.

The last few months had seen her in several situations that pushed her comfort zone. For the most part, she took the challenges head on with great success. But she’d underestimated the perceptiveness of her last mentor, who’d noticed her general aversion to social encounters. _Book are meant to expand our world,_ he’d told her. _Not hide you from it._ Indeed, the old Hermione would’ve already curled in on herself, awkward and unsure. She would’veburied herself in a book if she had one right now.

The new and improved Hermione would be better than that.

With a deep breath, she turned her head back towards the young man, her lips curling with a shy but welcome smile as she met his gaze.  He returned the smile warmly, raising a glass of orange juice in her direction and a quizzical brow that asked, _is everything okay?_ Her heart began to race as he seemed to consider coming over to ask her in person. Just as he decided to get up, a group of guys-- his friends, by the looks of it —rushed pass the bar and hauled him away with them. He shrugged apologetically as he passed Hermione’s table and disappeared into the next cart.

Hermione visibly sagged into her chair, feeling relieved but also a little disappointed. She yelped when a light punch landed on her upper arm. A long and lean body brushed past her from behind and slid smoothly into the chair beside hers.

“That was pretty close.”

Her eyes widened in surprise as an identical figure pulled up a chair across from her. “Very close,” Fred grinned cheekily. He leaned towards her, one elbow on the table, and said in a lowered voice, “A shame he couldn’t stay.”

Hermione’s brow furrowed with instant suspicion. “You didn’t.”

George pressed a hand to his heart. “We didn’t do anything! We just arrived.”

She glanced from one twin to the next and pursed her lips thoughtfully. Both were watching her intently, George with a merry glint in his eyes and Fred with… an oddly curious expression. Had he seen what the young man saw? She dismissed the thought and tilted her head slightly in his direction. “Arrived from _where,_ exactly?”

“From seeing Charlie off. He sends his regards, by the way.”

Hermione nodded in acknowledgement as a waiter appeared and placed three glasses and a pitcher of water on their table. He left with an order for coffee and pancakes, an omelette for George, and ‘just some milk’ for Fred. She had always felt at ease around the twins, but there was a tension in the air that made waiting for the food strangely uncomfortable. She cleared her throat as a thought came to her. “What _are_ you two doing here?”

“Well,” George clasped his hands together and smiled. “I’m glad you asked! Fred and I got to thinking--”

“That’s never good,” Hermione muttered grimly, but a crooked smile was already creeping across her lips.

“—we’re keen to new opportunities.”

“And ideas. Unfortunately, we seem to be short on magical ones at the moment.”

“So we thought that maybe, since you seem to know your way around and all—“

 _Uh oh._ Hermione’s fists clenched white in her lap. She wasn’t sure she liked where this was heading.

“We’d tag along with you. Just for a day or two and have a Muggle tour.”

“That is,” Fred spoke, a hint of concern in his voice. “If it’s alright with you.”

Hermione closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Her heart beat anxiously against her chest. Two days with the Weasley twins! She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

Mercifully, the food arrived just then and bought her some time to think about it. On the one hand, she welcomed their company. They were just the right kind of high-maintenance to prevent her from further wallowing today. Their presence also guaranteed some fun times. On the other hand, she couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all kind of… _inappropriate_.

Fred seemed to have read her thoughts because he added, “Our ulterior motive is to prove we’re more than just devilishly handsome pranksters.”

“Yeah,” George picked up on his brother’s cue. “It wounds us that you think we lack _maturity._ ”

“Let us improve your image of us.”

“At the very least,” George winked, “let us buy you your first drink.”

This earned a genuine laugh from Hermione. No guy had ever offered to buy her a drink before. It was definitely not unflattering.

“You boys are awfully good at propositioning.”

“Propositioning?” George raised his brows innocently. “Is that what we’ve been doing, Fred?”

“No George,” his brother smiled smugly. “We were just asking if she’d like to spend some time with the coolest wizards she knows. Of course,” Fred’s smile turned wicked as his eyes fixed on Hermione with a startlingly intense gaze. “If it’s her desire to be propositioned…”

“Oh, alright!” She rolled her eyes and shook her head in defeat. “You can both come along.” She shot her hand up to stop the twins from interrupting. “But just _one night_! Don’t you have a store to manage?”

“We trust Verity’s management.”

“It’s quite better than ours, actually.”

“And anyway, we’re officially on holidays too.”

Hermione leaned back in her chair and glanced warily at one twin, and then the next. 24 hours with the Weasley twins. “Well,” she said with a huff, “this is going to be interesting.”


	5. Just beneath the surface

It wasn't going to be entirely pleasure with the twins, after all.

As Hermione soon found out, it was going to be a little bit of business, too. They explained how they developed a yet-to-be-named invention for translating both magical and Muggle languages on the fly, and how they wanted Hermione to help test its ability with the latter. While her German was sparse at best, her skill with charms was without equal. If anyone could fix the remaining kinks in the magic, she could. In return, the twins promised her a share of the very profitable Ministry contract on the line.

Before they revealed their invention though, they tried to make her take an unbreakable vow of secrecy. Hermione not only refused, but threatened to permanently transfigure their faces if they mentioned a vow again. After a few minutes of bickering, they settled on a pinky swear that carried a magically-enforced, 24-hour penalty of undeniable cravings for puking pastilles.

At first glance, the Weasley product looked deceivingly like the twin's popular Extendable Ears. Further investigation, however, revealed underlying magic that was so clever in its composition that it left Hermione momentarily at a loss as to how she could improve on it. After some consideration though, she did lace a few charms of her own to the device, transfigured it to a more compact earpiece shape, and hooked it onto her left ear. It immediately turned invisible.

Fred clasped his hands eagerly and beamed. "I have a really good feeling about this, George!"

 _I told you she was the right choice, George!_ Fred's voice echoed in her left ear.

Hermione blinked and tilted her head curiously in his direction. Did the device just -?

"You might be right, Fred." George grinned and gave his brother a side-glance.

_Tongue Tickler? Earlingual? Oh, Weasley Whisperer!_

Hermione sighed, removed the device from her ear and replaced one of the recently added charms with a tap of her wand. The twins stared at her questioningly and she shrugged, "noise filter calibration. So where do you guys want to go today?"

***

 _The thing about Fred and George_ , Ginny had once said, _is that you sort of start thinking anything's possible if you've got enough nerve_. There was no denying that something about being around the twins made people want to do more- _dare_ more than they normally would. Their enthusiasm was contagious, and their seemingly boundless energy invigorated any room they were in.

Exhilaration was the key.

Having been privileged to see at least _two_ highly practical and powerful 'magical tech'—as she was starting to call them—it definitely seemed to Hermione that the twins were _maturing_ from grade-school pranksters to highly respectable wizards on the forefront of magical innovation. Coupled with their newly formed collaboration, she had momentarily - and foolishly so - forgotten about their pranking tendencies. At the very least, she'd thought herself immune by carrying their precious invention.

But she was wrong, and the twins jelly-leg cursed her the moment they stepped off the train.

Before she could get an angry word out, they whisked her to one of the highest points in the city and strapped her into a bungee with them. When the safety dropped and they fell, Hermione screamed with terror greater than she ever had during the war. She literally saw her life flash before her eyes. Fred and George had screamed too, but with the manic glee of seasoned thrill-seekers. As the cord strained and pulled them sickeningly back up into the open air, Hermione felt tears sting her eyes and an uncontrollable sob build up in her chest. It was unnatural for her to feel so helpless, so weak, and so sick in the stomach. She would've surrendered to the overwhelming feelings if not for the sudden and comforting squeeze of both the twins as they enveloped her with their warm bodies and howling laughter.

By the second bounce of the cord, Hermione's fear snapped and was replaced by a dizzying glee. She was surprised to hear her own, albeit nervous laughter mingling with that of the twins. She'd never liked flying, but the reckless abandon of free-falling was an altogether different - and not entirely unpleasant - sensation.

When her feet were safely back on solid ground though, she punched both of them hard in the shoulder. "We're sorry we surprised you," George began apologetically, head bowed low. "We just didn't think you'd have done it if we asked you beforehand."

"Of course I bloody well wouldn't!" she fumed and took an angry step towards him.

Fred also took a step forward, putting himself boldly between her and his brother. "But you kind of enjoyed it in the end, didn't you?" he said, a single brow raised smugly. "You were definitely laughing."

Hermione flustered at the observation and he smiled victoriously. "I knew it! I knew there was something fun under all that snooty-tootyness!"

 _I saw the thrill in your eyes. You looked amazing,_ his voice echoed in her left ear.

An exasperated sound escaped Hermione's lips as she looked away, the anger draining out of her. "What are you, 12!?" she chided, but her voice was only just over a whisper. Neither Wesley gave any sign they heard her.

"Alright, Granger. It's your choice now. What should we do next?"

"Perhaps somewhere we can test the-" George gestured towards her left ear.

"Well, we should probably check into a hotel," Hermione said thoughtfully. "I assume you've got our bags somewhere." The twins snapped their fingers and the luggage apparated at their feet. They picked them up, including Hermione's, and started down the street following her lead.

"Okay, but what do you want to do AFTER we find a hotel?"

"Yeah, what does Hermione Granger do for fun, anyway?"

She rounded a corner and headed towards the most posh-looking hotel on the street. "I'm thinking about it."

***

The concierge eyed her carefully as she approached the wide, marble counter.

"Err, Guten Tag. We'd like to book three rooms for the night. Preferably on the same floor."

"OR the best suite you have available!" Fred called over from some nearby armchairs, where he and George had just flopped themselves into.

The concierge glanced curiously at the twins and then back to Hermione. "They're paying," she said. The concierge nodded as her fingers flew expertly over a keyboard hidden behind the vastly expensive-looking counter. After a few seconds, she smiled and pushed her tortoiseshell glasses up with her index finger.

"The honeymoon suite is currently available," she said in perfect English.

"We'll take it!" George exclaimed.

"No we won't!" Hermione interjected and turned anxiously towards the concierge. "Do you have anything, umm, non-themed?"

"No need to be a miser, Hermione!"

"When you're with us, it's always a quality experience!"

Hermione cringed at their clear misinterpretation of her objection. A devilish curl played on the concierge's lips. "Die Honeymoon Suite für Drei," she murmured as she booked the suite on her computer.

Hermione's mouth dropped in horror as _the honeymoon suite for ménage à trois,_ was translated into her ear. That was not right on SO MANY levels. She wanted to bang her head on the marble counter and dissolve in embarrassment.

"We're not—it isn't like that," she offered lamely.

The concierge kept her smile as she pushed a check-in form across the counter to be filled out. Fred and George soon joined Hermione to complete the form and in a minute, the concierge pushed three keys in their direction. She gazed at Hermione with a wicked gleam in her eyes. "Please enjoy your stay."

_I would not waste time and start with them both on the ma-_

Hermione tore at her left ear so violently it made the twins and the concierge jump back in surprise. She quickly pocketed the device and gave a curt thank you as she grabbed the keys and stormed away towards the elevators. "This way!" she barked over her shoulder and the twins scrambled after her.

George scratched the back of his neck nervously as the elevator doors trapped them in with the seething witch. "I'm guessing there was some translation error."

"Yes."

"But she spoke English."

Hermione's jaw visibly tightened. " _Yes._ "

"Well, at least you got the room." Fred reached out cautiously to pry one of the keys from her clenched hands. "Maybe it's best all around if we took a break before heading out again. Leave the unpacking to us."

Hermione closed her eyes and sighed deeply. "Merlin, YES."

***

A luxurious, strawberry-vanilla scent filled the room as hot water mingled with bubble gel in the equally luxurious bath tub. Hermione changed into a hotel bathrobe and sat on the edge of the tub near the faucet, examining the earpiece carefully in her hands. Had one of her charms inadvertently given it the ability to translate beyond words? Was it just picking up meaning from the tone of the speaker, or was it picking up something deeper - the unsaid?

Were these the kinks in the magic the twins had alluded to?

Hermione pocketed the device and, after making sure the door was definitely locked, slipped out of her robe and into the bubble-filled bath. A groan of pleasure escaped her lips as her body sank into the hot and sweetly-scented water. She reclined along the length of the tub so that her head was just barely above the water. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself a moment of silent serenity.

Then she let herself slide under the water completely.

When she resurfaced, her mind buzzed once more with thought. The earpiece would, without a doubt, be very useful with its ability to 'read between the lines'. On the other hand, such power would be easily abused, and the Ministry was nothing if not one big melting pot of political strife. Perhaps she could tweak it so that it was less inclined to translate a user's spoken language. Scale-back and simplify the overall magic so the device didn't overachieve as much as it did in its translation. It would surely make production easier for the twins in the long run.

Thinking about Fred and George got her thinking about how odd it was that they had insisted on a shared suite. She was not going to deny that her current situation was a lavish improvement over what she could have afforded on her own, nor that their attempts to impress her thus far were effective and—though she'd never openly admit- _enjoyabl_ e. Even if she believed they were being overly protective of their invention in her hands, it wasn't enough of a reason to want her in such close proximity… was it? Furthermore, the twins were clever, quick to adapt, and showed no signs of being hapless tourists in a foreign city. They could just as easily have hopped on a train south to spend the rest of the day with any of the part-Veela witches of Fleur's extended family.

_Family._

Hermione rubbed her temples and groaned. That was it! The reason they were keeping her close. They must be figuring out how she was really getting along to report to the family! And the twins didn't take orders from just anybody. No, it had to have been Ginny _._ Ginny and Harry!

She sat up from the water and suddenly felt very annoyed. Sure, her lack of communication with the couple would've naturally made them worried about her, but there was absolutely nothing going on in her life that they couldn't find out from Bill. She'd done nothing but immerse herself in work these last few months and, as a senior curse-breaker, Bill had access to full reports and evaluations of every job she'd done so far. Hermione's teeth clenched as anger flared up inside her. If they _really_ wanted to know how she was doing, they bloody well could've just asked her! She'd have told them she was doing great, which was the absolute truth of it, and that would be that! What were they thinking, sending the twins to look after her!?

Hermione closed her eyes and frowned in deep concentration. Well, if the twins _are_ secretly studying her and if they _are_ reporting to the rest of their family, then she'd have to make sure they had something worth reporting about.

***

Normally, Hermione would've been in her pyjamas in the soft, hotel bed by now, watching a movie on the telly or reading a book. But tonight found her walking into one of the trendiest clubs in Europe, wearing a sleek violet dress that was a few centimetres shorter than she thought it would be, flanked on either side by a Weasley twin. Fred was wearing jeans with a slim-fitting, dark blue dress shirt. The sleeves were rolled up casual and his hair neatly parted to one side. George had on similar clothing in forest green, topped with a grey vest. Several heads turned at their entrance, and Hermione consciously tugged at the hem of her dress. It was the first time she'd ever been to a club. She hadn't really thought about what she'd do once she got them in.

A hand clasped her shoulder and squeezed lightly. "This is pretty sweet!" George said, though she felt his words brush against her ear more than heard him. The entire club was practically vibrating with the heavy bass of – was it still called techno? - music. "Wouldn't have guessed you for the party type!"

Hermione beamed victoriously. _Yes. Be sure to tell Ginny that!_

Fred gave her a wink and before she could stop them, the twins disappeared into the sea of young and _annoyingly_ good-looking people on the dance floor. She wavered hesitantly at the edge, torn between following them into the masses or going up to find a spot on the balcony to properly assess the scene. A heel came down hard on her foot and she jumped back with a cry.

"Achtung!" shrieked a woman in a tight black dress and a little too much makeup as she pushed her way to the dance floor. Hermione limped a safe distance from the dancing swarm and whimpered quietly as she pulled out her wand and healed her foot discretely by the stairs. It was a lousy start.

_That would be a no to the dance floor, then._

She lifted her head and scanned the balcony for a free and advantageous spot to move to. Her eyes locked accidentally on a tall, somewhat familiar figure that happened to be staring down in her direction. A spark of recognition flashed in his eyes and a warm smile spread across his face, softening his sharp but handsome features.

It was the young man on the train.

Hermione stared dumbly for a moment before raising a hand in greeting. She wasn't sure if she'd smiled or not when he pushed himself from the railing and gestured in her direction. Hermione looked around but saw nothing, and when she looked back up again, he was gone. Bewildered she decided to find the stairs to the balcony. It was where she'd been heading anyway.

Halfway up the stairs she saw him again, standing beside the top of the staircase. He noticed her a second after she did and his face lit up again in a gorgeous smile.

Her grip on the railing tightened as she momentarily stopped her ascent, much to the annoyance of the people behind her. She felt a nervous twist in her gut and flutter in her heart when she realised he'd been waiting for her.

She blinked. _Merlin,_ he was pretty.

He brushed a stray curl from his dazzling blue eyes and stretched a hand out to her as she approached. Hermione took his hand and stared as his smile grew impossibly wider.

His lips formed the word _hello_ and she felt his strong hand squeeze hers lightly before letting go. The club's music was a few decibels lighter here compared to the dance floor, but still too loud to hold a conversation with a normal voice. He nodded his head towards the far end of the room where there were a few standing tables overlooking the dance floor and, most importantly, were furthest away from the speakers.

Did she want to chat with a tall, handsome stranger?

Hermione gave a small smile and nodded.


	6. A rift in the visage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this took so long! Life has been busy and, to be honest, this has gone through several revisions as I changed my mind a few times about how the events would come to pass. I'm still not completely happy with it, but it gets me where I want to be for the next chapter so it will do.

Hermione was laughing.

It looked genuine and whole-hearted, her face completely lit up with amusement. Even from Fred’s distance at the bar, he could see she was radiating with joy. Fred had had to actually do a double-take... he didn’t think it was her at first, couldn't _possibly_ be her, and he was still having difficulty registering it to be true. The thing was, Fred thought, Hermione had always seemed too serious for her own good. Which was a shame because it made her look sharper and older than she truly was. This youthful and vibrant-looking Hermione was something altogether different, and he realized with some regret just how guarded and reserved that meant Hermione normally was. The joy and unchecked pleasure suited her. Nay, it _became_ her.

And perhaps, he reasoned, that was why she didn’t notice her companion brush a stray curl from her shoulder. She was simply enjoying herself too much. But the way her eyes darted playfully up at her companion made Fred unsure. He certainly didn’t like the way her companion smiled and looked at her, in his opinion, a little too keenly.

The hair on his neck bristled and his eyes narrowed as her overly handsome companion discretely closed the distance between them, his shoulder brushing against hers, and leaned over to whisper something in her ear. Her gaze lowered as she bowed her head and listened, scanning the crowd lazily until it locked, briefly, with Fred’s. He tried, belatedly, for a smile. But her gaze was already moving on and Fred doubted she’d actually seen him at all. Her companion pulled away then, grinning smugly, and she punched him playfully on the arm.

Fred’s stomach twisted uncomfortably. Hermione was _flirting._

This shouldn’t be so surprising, he told himself. It had been clear the night before that she was no longer the same Hermione of their Hogwarts years. Not that he expected her to be after… well, just  _after_ …

But they had all changed, hadn’t they? Each in their own way. Hermione was less wound up, less like the prefect he remembered growing up. In fact, he’d been intrigued by how much _more_ Hermione had become— how she held her head a little higher and walked with longer, more confident strides. Even her voice was less haughty, less grating on his ears. And now, as he watched her balance shift as she turned to face her companion, he could practically hear the vibrant lilt of her voice as it slipped through lips pulled in an oddly _seductive_ curl.

He imagined certain words forming on those lips and felt his cheeks and ears flush.

George came up beside him holding two drinks victoriously. He beamed and handed one glass to his brother. With his now free hand, he tapped the device in his left ear. “Dance floor next, yeah?” He followed his brother’s gaze up to the balcony and grinned. “Hermione’s doing well!”

Fred took a long sip from his glass, his expression thoughtful. “Very well,” he agreed. George raised his brow in question, but his brother shrugged and shook his head. “She’s different than I expected.”

“Not in a bad way,” George winked.

“No,” Fred grinned. _Not bad at all._

George lifted his glass to his lips and tipped his head back, finishing the drink. He wiped at his mouth with his free hand and handed his empty glass to his twin, eyes bright with mischief, “Wish me luck!” he said before wading into the ocean of bodies on the dance floor.

Fred watched until the head of red hair disappeared in the bright lights and sequins. When he looked back up to the balcony, he saw that Hermione’s companion had draped an arm casually around her waist. His lips pressed into a thin line as a surge of protectiveness and concern swept over him. Hermione was practically a second sister, after all.

Her tall, dashing companion was still leaning close to her, his lips moving fast against her ear. Hermione laughed again, tipping her head flirtatiously away from him and turned her gaze downwards. Thìs time, she definitely saw Fred. He tried not to feel the sting when she flinched at the sight of him, and raised his glass to her with his best Weasley smile.

She returned the smile, albeit weakly and unsure. Then she pushed herself from the balcony and turned to her companion.

Their lips met.

Fred blinked, his grip tightening on the glasses in his hands. Had Hermione deliberately leaned into the kiss or had her companion? He didn’t even realize he’d been holding his breath until they pulled away from each other, looking equally flushed and surprised.

Hermione’s hand slipped easily into his and she pulled her companion away from the balcony. She glanced once back at Fred with an odd mixture of expressions he couldn’t quite grasp, and disappeared from view.

Fred immediately pushed his way through the crowd, depositing the glasses on a random but nearby table, and made his way to the staircase. One part curiosity and one part concern drove him forward, ignoring the third part that insisted she was a big witch now and a _curse-breaker_ and this was completely none of his business. But there had been a flash in Hermione’s eyes when she saw him –-not quite annoyance, almost like a dare-- that he couldn't leave unsettled. He looked around and spotted them a few metres away, heading to the exit of the club. Fred cursed silently and turned his head back to the dance floor.

Surely George would find his way back to the hotel. He’d probably even assume his brother had hooked up with someone. Past experience had taught the twins that when it came to meeting ladies, it was simpler to go solo. It avoided confusion and awkward questions like, _do you two do everything together?_

His mind decided, Fred pushed his way to the exit and out into the crisp, night air.

***

She liked him. Genuinely _liked_ him.

He was sweet, charming, and undeniably one of the most handsome men she’d ever laid eyes (and hands) on. Her skin tingled in the cool night air where his breath had been moist just a few moments ago, his deep and soothing voice against her ear made playful with his Scottish accent. Hermione’s hand tightened on his as they came out to the front of the club and pushed him discretely into a shadowy corner of a nearby building, out of sight of nearby club-goers. A sigh escaped her lips as his hands slipped from hers and settled casually on her waist. Not possessively or expectantly, but like a gentleman waiting for his dance partner. He lowered his head and stooped so their eyes were level, and there was such warmth and happiness in the deep blue orbs that, for a moment, Hermione wavered.

 _This is a dream,_ she thought for the umpteenth time that evening, even though her traitorous hands clung to him and pulled him closer. She pushed herself up against his lean frame, her lips brushing tantalizingly close to his.  _Just a gorgeous dream._

He closed the distance and wrapped his arms around her. He tasted like dark chocolate and rum. Hermione’s arms draped over his shoulders and she let herself surrender, for just a moment, to this perfect, dream guy.

Eventually their lips part, and she presses her forehead against his, unwilling to open her eyes or pull away. His skin smells like rain and fresh earth, and she can’t stop herself from imagining the Highlands he calls his childhood home, nor the tantalizing future they could have.

But Hermione couldn’t.

She wouldn’t.

He was a Muggle, afterall, and the woman that had him all starry-eyed when he gazed down at her was an illusion. _No one falls in love in one night,_ she told herself to calm her rapidly beating heart. _Not really_.

“Herm—“

“Shh.” She squeezes her eyelids shut and steels her nerves. Her fingers move behind his head, tracing symbols in the air as she silently recites an incantation. A thin strand soon catches on her fingertips and she begins to loop it, carefully, around her fingers. Her companion groans and his hands tighten on her waist. Her heart sinks as she feels his hurt and confusion, even though he's not sure why.

“I feel…”

Foolishly, selfishly, Hermione presses her lips gently onto his to distract him—distract herself—from the guilt growing in her heart.  “Just a gorgeous dream,” she whispers as she finally pulls away, a thin and luminescent strand of silvery-purple light now wrapped around her fingertips.

“What’s that?” her companion asks, wide-eyed.

Hermione looks at her hand for a second before shaking it. The bright strand dissolves into thin air. “Nothing,” she replies simply and without looking up. “Just a trick of the light.” She turns and walks away from him then, putting as much distance between herself and what could’ve been.

***

He wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t seen it.

The man that had been Hermione’s companion for the evening was staring after her quickly retreating form. Confused, he starts after her, but another man calls him from the front of the club. He responds with something that sounds distinctly Gaelic, and the other man laughs, drapes an arm around his mate’s shoulder, and steers him back to the club. _A Scottish stag party? Football team?_ Fred thinks idly as he follows Hermione’s hasty retreat.

One thing he's sure of, though, is the memory charm. Why had Hermione done it? It was common enough to use such magic to smooth out disastrous encounters with Muggles, but what he’d seen could hardly be defined as 'disastrous'. It was the complete opposite, and the fact that Hermione casted a false memory charm at all made Fred uneasy.

After two blocks he realized where she was going and apparated on the next corner to intercept her.

“Granger.”

“Fred.” Her eyes were unnaturally bright under the dim streetlight. It only takes a second for her posture to shift reflexively into the defensive. “What do you want?”

Fred opens his mouth to talk but closes it a moment later. He’s not altogether sure what he’d wanted— _needed_ to say. He runs a hand through his hair in frustration before settling on, “What happened?”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “I don’t know what you’re—“

“I _saw_ you with him.” He takes a step forward. “You altered his memory. Why?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“It was reckless.”

“Oh please,” Hermione snorts. “Coming from you?”

“It’s unlike you,” he insists.

“You assume you know me.”

“I do,” Fred says boldly, and his tone is certain. “The Granger I know wouldn’t muck about with someone's memories unless there was danger.” The moment the words come from his lips, he knows they'd hit true. “So what’s the danger?”

She turns away from him then, and for an instant Fred fears she’d disappear on him. Her face is hidden from him by the shadows cast by the streetlight. He takes another step towards her, just in case. When she speaks, her voice is soft and resigned. “I am.”

Fred frowns at first, then rubs his temples and sighs. It made a kind of sense… except for the fact that it was un-Hermione like. Not that he really understood this Hermione very much. _Still…_ “The war’s over Granger. There’s nothing wrong with— I mean, I’d think you of all wizards would not be discouraged by that.” He’d heard the adage before. To be involved with a Muggle meant having to eventually choose between two worlds. There could be no in-between.

Hermione’s head snaps to glare at him and her eyes flash dangerously. “I am _not_ that ridiculous.” Fred puts his hands up defensively as she spins on her heels and growls in disgust. “You Weasleys always think the same of me!”

“Hey!” Fred pushes down the reflex to snap back _What do you mean ‘you Weasleys’!?_ and says, with considerable restraint, “then explain it to me.”

They stare at each other for a long and disgruntled moment in silence. Hermione clenches her fists white as she considers, but with every passing second, he feels the moment slipping away. His heart sinks when she finally, haughtily says, “No,” and disapparates from view.

Standing alone under the streetlight and feeling like he’d come awfully close to something, Fred decides there's definitely one thing that hadn't changed with Hermione.

Her temper.


	7. Erised reflected in me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something is clearly amiss with Hermione, and Fred doesn't like being wrong.

George stared as his brother poked absently at the scrambled eggs on his plate. He’d cleaned his own plate a while ago and his stomach growled indignantly. The grating of Fred’s fork against the porcelain was also starting to annoy him. “Oi, give that over!” He reached over the table and plucked the plate from Fred.

“Want not, waste not,” he mumbled as he dug into the dish. George glanced at his brother, fully expecting some chiding or snide remark, but found him frowning into his cup of tea instead. He raised a brow curiously. “Sickle for your thoughts?”

Fred scratched the back of his head and gave a sheepish grin. “Sorry, George. I was just thinking—“ his gaze darted to the unopened bedroom that Hermione had claimed as her own and leaned over secretively. He continued in a hushed and slightly-conspiratorial tone, “last night Hermione and I—“

“Ah,” George cried, his mouth half-full of breakfast remains. He wagged a finger at his brother and shook his head. “I take the sickle back. That’s more than I want to hear.” He grunted as Fred kicked him under the table and coughed instead of laughing as some food momentarily caught in his throat.

“Listen! She did something and I… I think I got it wrong.” There was something serious in Fred’s voice that made George put his fork down. “No, I know I did. I’ve been going over everything that happened last night and…I think…”

George stopped chewing. He felt his sole ear burn with embarrassment. “Brother,” he spoke as calmly as his nerves would allow him. “Please tell me you didn’t –“

Fred started, palms up defensively. “It isn’t. I didn’t!”

“-- because I’ve just decided I’m definitely not ready for this level of intimacy between us.”

A moment, then two passed before they both burst into laughter. Movement could be heard from the unopened bedroom and, after a few minutes, a slightly groggy Hermione appeared. “What’s so funny?”

“George made a joke.” Fred offered in explanation and stood up to give her his seat. He gave her an easy, encouraging smile, but George noticed there was a storm brewing behind his eyes. Hermione took the seat gratefully and helped herself to Fred’s tea.

“I didn’t sleep a wink!” she yawned and ran her fingers, unsuccessfully, through her hair. If she noticed the way Fred was eyeing her, she didn’t show.

Despite his stomach’s protest, George pushed the plate with the remaining food towards her. “We can order more if you’d like.”

She stared at the half-eaten sausage and eggs and shook her head. “It’s alright. I’m not really hungry.”

George took the plate back gratefully and resumed eating. He watched from the corner of his eye as Fred stared at the back of Hermione’s head for a long moment, clearly torn about something. Hermione seemed content to drink the tea in silence, gazing out the window and lost in her own thoughts. She released a deep sigh that sounded more than a little sad.

He and Fred would have to talk later. That much was certain.

***

Sometimes, she’d dream about her childhood.

Before Hogwarts, there were weekend trips to the library and ice creams in the park. She'd dream about playing hopscotch with the girl across the street and watching the neighbourhood boys shoot bottle rockets in the summertime. She'd dream aboutthe first day of grade-school, and the wary glances her teachers soon started giving her when she'd get excited and strange things occurred. Children her age, though, were too young to believe magic wasn’t (and shouldn’t) be real, and were drawn to her with awe and incomprehensible glee. Hermione wouldn’t say she’d ever been popular, but the other children just knew, instinctively, that there was something about her that made incredible things occasionally happen—like finding brightly coloured eggs under the class rabbit after Easter, or a unicorn appearing briefly in the fields on a class trip to a farm.

She couldn’t remember when, exactly, these childhood memories became a regular feature in her dreams. But it was some time in the last few months, after she’d started her apprenticeship. The nostalgia sometimes left her feeling off and disoriented when she woke, and it wasn't until last night that she understood why.

_“Where d’you hail from?”_

_“Um. England?”_

_“No, no,” he laughed and gave her a handsome grin. “Uni. You’re on exchange, aren’t you?”_

It had been such an innocent question. One she’d even assumed to be her most likely cover, should anyone have asked. And yet…

_“What makes you think I’m studying?”_

_He leaned forward then, his face close to hers, and raised a brow. “Aren’t ye?”_

She had parted her lips to speak an affirmative, but couldn't bring herself to find her voice. Saying yes would’ve been a lie, and academia was something she realized in that moment she couldn't lie about. Not to anyone, and especially not to herself.

_“Not anymore, actually. I—I just finished.”_

_“Oh, congratulations!” he leaned back and stared wistfully up at the club lights. “It must be freeing, having all the writing and exams behind you. I’ll probably not be done for a while.”_

_“What do you mean?”_

She’d smiled then, remembering fondly the many quiet hours spent in the Hogwarts library.

_He studied her for a moment, a playful glint in his eyes. “You promise not to laugh or think any less of me?”_

_“Why would I? We’d just met!”_

_“Promise?”_

_“Oh, alright,” she laughed. “Cross my heart.”_

He’d sighed dramatically then, and closed the gap between them to whisper in her ear.

_“I’m an art history major.”_

Hermione had tilted her head to glance at him, and he’d understood from her look that she didn’t quite follow. This puzzled him for a long moment.

 _“It isn't_ _yer_ _standard four year program,” he clarified. “_ _I'll_ _need to do_ _post-grad if I_ _want_ _to make a day job out of it._ _... which I do. Hopefully."_

_“Oh. Sorry, I’d never thought of that.”_

And that was what stung.

Hermione hadn’t thought about it. Was there even such a thing as post-secondary education in the wizarding world? Somehow she doubted it, and for the first time it dawned on her why there was such a division between the adult world of Muggles and wizards. Though she’d laughed and smiled, deep down she’d been disappointed and upset by the revelation. She’d told him, honestly, that her studies had been demanding and she’d never considered what it was like studying anything else. It was something she’d always just known she’d be doing. He’d then, predictably, asked her what her major was. She side-stepped his question and told him instead that she’d got a bank job immediately after graduating, thanks in part to a family friend, and she’d taken to it like a fish in water. Though her details were vague (or perhaps, because they were) he’d been both impressed and intrigued by her good fortune.

 _“I imagine there’ll be lots of fancy food and glamorous locales in your future,” he said. “_ _The_ _best I can look forward to is a collection of beautiful but dusty old books.”_

 _Hermione’s heart skipped a beat. “Those are my favourite kind_ _."_

_“Mine too!” he laughed. “It’s one of the reasons I chose art history. Whatever makes you happy, right?”_

He told her about his favourite historical figures, all outlandishly eccentric and mostly recluse. Hermione found herself enthralled by the stories as much as by the storyteller. He had a deep, pleasant voice that lilted, like in a song, when he was happy and excited. Not once did he sound preachy or lecturing – something Hermione had been accused of many times - as he told accounts from apprentices and princes likening a particular artist’s methods to watching magic unfold….

In the back of Hermione's mind, she’d wondered.

It was then that he’d asked her if he could show her his favourites. He was on exchange and the institution he was currently studying at had the most _charming_ library filled with all sorts of history books and some documents dating back to the medieval era (for viewing only, of course). But what he’d fallen in love with were the stained glass windows that splashed colour on the study area and made it feel like being in a realm at the other end of the rainbow. He was sure Hermione would love it, and it was only a morning’s train ride away. Tomorrow morning, to be precise, and it would be wonderful if Hermione was heading in the same direction.

_“You’re not like any other girl I’ve met.”_

_“And you’ve met a lot?” she teased._

_“I won’t deny it, but you…” he leaned in close, then, and his lips brushed lightly across her cheek. “There’s something… odd about you.”_

_“How flattering.”_

_“I mean,” he laughed. “I’ve gone quite a bit geeky on you, teaching art history in a club on a WEEKEND -- and you haven’t once ruffled about it."_

_“What if I’m genuinely interested?”_

_“Then that's VERY odd. I wonder now if you’re more interested in it or me.”_

_“Can’t I be both?”_

_"Hmm," he studied her carefully, a merry glint in his eye. "I'm not quite convinced."_

_"Oh, alright. If you really must know, I'm a terrible dancer."_

The words came from Hermione’s lips, but the voice had been far more confident and flirtatious. Her eyes had locked on Fred then, and alarm bells went off in her head. Thinking back, she couldn't exactly say why. But suddenly she’d felt their time was up and, heart racing, she’d pushed away from the balcony.

And she’d kissed him.

It had been straight out of a movie, and it had felt right. _World-shattering_ and right.

Her heart soared in the same moment that dread seized it. He had revealed her mistake, her oversight that she’d been blind to but now could see so clearly. And until she could sort herself out, she flirted with a very dangerous grey area.

So she couldn't let him remember her, and inviting her to campus. She couldn't risk him trying to convince her to come with him. He’d unknowingly found her Achilles’ heel and she was already too tempted to be able to resist--

University.

Academic life.

Being in a learning institution again… with him.

Selfishly, she left his memory of seeing her in the train and in the club intact. To him, she’d just be that girl he’d seen from a distance. A walking dream.

Hermione thought it poignant, because isn’t that what she felt like now?

That night, she dreamt of a Muggle class reunion. All her pre-Hogwarts classmates were dressed in sophisticated suits and the latest runway fashion, while she was dressed in worn wizarding robes. They all turned to her and began to murmur.

 _Is that Granger? The one who went off to some_ _fancy_ _boarding school?_

_What on earth is she wearing? It’s positively medieval!_

Hermione watched uneasily as her former classmates shrank to their former 11-year old selves and became bolder and crueller in their mocking.

_I can’t believe we used to follow her around!_

_She’s so BACKWARDS._

They closed in around her. Hermione stumbled back as their little hands extended from sleeves that were now too large for them, pointing at her and chanting.

_Stranger Granger! Stranger Granger!_

Hermione stepped on her robe and stumbled backwards to a roar of laughter. Tears stung her eyes as she stared up at faces she’d once been happy to call friends. “Why?”

_Because you left us._

_You thought you were better than us._

_You thought wrong!_

“I’m sorry!” Hermione reached out blindly, desperately, and felt strong hands grab hold and pull her up. Her father stood before her with his kind eyes and a small smile.

_Your mother and I had such high hopes for you. You were going to change the world._

“I did,” Hermione cried. “I helped save it!”

 _Not our world,_ _darling_ _._

 _Yours, but not_ _ours._

***

She was packing her bag when he came in. A promise was a promise and their 24 hours was up. He closed the door quietly behind him and cleared his throat to announce himself.

“Hermione.”

Deep brown eyes turned warily towards him. She pushed the bag across the bed and sat on the edge with her arms crossed over her chest. “Fred.”

He took a step forward and held his hands up in a sign of good faith. “I wanted to apologize for last night. I didn’t mean to upset you and I’m sorry.”

Hermione pursed her lips but nodded. “I apologize for being curt with you. You didn’t upset me, not really.”

“I shouldn’t have assumed…”

“No,” she interrupted. “You shouldn’t have.”

_You Weasleys always think the same of me!_

She rubbed her temple and sighed. “It was a mistake, alright? He shouldn’t have gotten that close.”

Fred frowned. “You have to explain better than that, Hermione.”

She huffed and pushed herself off the bed. “No, actually, I don’t.” Hermione grabbed her coat and pulled it on. “I’ve decided I don’t need to explain myself to anyone. Not to Ginny or to Harry,” she picked up her bag and closed it with a solid snap. “And definitely not to you.”

Fred reached out instinctively for her arm and tried not to flinch when she stiffened at his touch. “Don’t,” he pleaded. “Just don’t close yourself off, alright? I didn’t follow you last night to spy. I was concerned. That’s all.”

A pitiful laugh escaped Hermione’s lips. She shrugged her arm free of him and turned to pick up her bag. Fred couldn’t see her face.

“You used my first name,” she said softly. “You haven’t since before…” _before Ron died._

“I wasn’t sure…” Fred hesitated. He clenched his hand into a fist and resisted the urge to reach out again. Would it be a kindness or pain to tell Hermione that he’d gone back to the club? That he’d seen the man re-join his friends and, apart from some confusion over a mysterious brunette, had been no worse for wear? “I’m not sure what happened last night and I don’t like being wrong. Something’s amiss with you and I just want to know what.”

A soft crackle of magic was warning enough for him to sigh and step back. “I’m not a puzzle for you to solve.”

Fred was disappointed, but not surprised. He turned to the door and put a hand on the knob. “Do you know how to tell an Auror from a Curse-breaker?” He glanced back, but Hermione was already gone. Shaking his head, he let himself out of the room.

“An Auror will fix problems. A Curse-breaker seeks them out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter was meant to hint (if not clarify or put into context) the events leading up to now.


	8. Choice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry about the wait! I was planning to release two chapters at the same time, but the written story always seems to take on a slightly different direction than the original story idea. What originally started as a (shallow) need to fulfill some Fremione has spiraled into a character study of Hermione. But I do so enjoy writing Weasleys, so the next chapter will have to wait while I chew on it a bit more.

 

Deflect, counter-strike, grab the target, disapparate.

She'd rehearsed it enough times with the senior curse-breaker that she could've done it with her eyes closed. But the intel had been poor and failed to include a 10 metre distance between where Hermione would be and her target.

Deflect, counter-strike,  _magically-boosted leap_ , grab the target, disapparate.

It wouldn't have been the first time Hermione changed a plan on the fly, so the extra step shouldn't have been a problem. Shouldn't have, anyway, if she'd been focused and well-rested.

Instead, she'd been unfocused and a second too slow in her reaction. She'd fumbled and fallen from the precipice, hitting the cursed barrier before she could catch herself and was repelled to the far end of the stone hall. The last thing she saw before everything went black was her fellow curse-breaker running towards her, wand drawn and glowing bright.

Shadows of once familiar figures laughed and taunted her in her dreams.

Gradually, she became aware of a gentle and steady beeping. Using the sound as a guide, she grappled her way slowly to wakefulness. A small moan escaped her lips as she regained control of the necessary muscles to open her eyes. A sole figure came slowly into view beside her, arms crossed over a lean frame. She tried to focus on the emerald green blouse with a subtle but familiar tartar pattern.

Minerva McGonagall's normally stern features went soft with relief. "You gave us quite the scare, Miss Granger." Hermione blinked as the rest of the room came into view. She turned her head towards the source of the steady beeping and was seized by instant pain in the back of her head. Neck muscles also burned angrily at the movement. Somehow, she managed to bite back a groan.

Seeing her discomfort, McGonagall immediately stepped out into the hall and called for a doctor. "They will want to check you for a concussion," she explained as she returned to Hermione's side. "I would normally advise against the painkillers, but I have recently learnt that medical technology has progressed substantially since my youth." Her hands glided lightly over the machinery as it beeped with a slightly faster rhythm, perfectly capturing the rhythm of Hermione's heart. "Quite so."

It clicked then- Hermione was  _not_  in a magical hospital.

The doctor came in and smiled warmly at Hermione as she inspected the bandages around her head. She then pulled a flashlight from her pocket and instructed Hermione in a cool but authoritative voice to follow the light with her eyes. Looking mostly satisfied, the doctor then reviewed Hermione's charts and asked her a few questions about how she felt, what she'd been doing in the mountains, and what she ate for dinner last night. Hermione was mostly honest with her response and hoped her symptoms were consistent with a rock climbing accident. McGonagall nodded silently the few times Hermione glanced her way, and as she predicted, the doctor left orders for a nurse to administer additional painkillers after the patient ate a good, solid meal. "You had a nasty fall m'dear, but it looks like you didn't suffer any brain trauma. If it's alright with you and your grandmother—"

"Guardian," McGonagall corrected.

"—we'd like to keep you overnight for observation."

"Okay," Hermione sighed and McGonagall nodded in agreement. The doctor smiled once more and bid a good evening before closing the door behind her.

The older witch folded her hands in front of her and raised a brow as Hermione carefully felt at the bandages on her head. Her hair...

"Shorn off the back, I'm afraid," McGonagall explained. "There had been blood when you were brought in and they had to be sure."

It was bank protocol to take any injured curse-breaker to the nearest place of healing. Though the cause had been magical, Hermione's injuries were purely physical, and the closest hospital had been a Muggle one. She assessed the room slowly. "My parents?"

"They're at your apartment now, picking up some things."

"The... target?"

"Acquired," McGonagall confirmed. "And already with Gringotts. I daresay, I was quite surprised to get the owl for you. I thought your emergency contact would be Mr. Potter or young Miss Weasley." She noted how Hermione's hands clenched a fistful of the hospital sheets and how her eyes darted briefly away then back. "Though I am honoured you thought of me," she added gently.

"It wasn't-" Hermione unclenched her hands and nervously began to smooth out the folds in the bed sheet. "I wasn't expecting to need… to be  _in a situation_  where they'd feel calling you was...  _warranted_." Her cheeks burnt with embarrassment and she couldn't bring herself to meet McGonagall's stare as it bore down on her. After a few moments, the older witch sighed and pulled a chair to sit beside her.

"Have on, then."

"Sorry?"

"Whatever it is that's troubling you."

"Oh. Ohh, it's nothing re-"

McGonagall flicked her wrist dismissively, "I can be patient but I'm a very busy witch, Miss Granger. I have no desire to small-talk you into explaining how one of my best and brightest became victim to such elementary magic."

Hermione blushed further. It took her a few seconds to gather the courage to meet McGonagall's gaze. She vaguely recalled the older witch once mentioning, in passing, that she discovered magic at a very young age. Though Hermione knew she came from a family of prestigious witches and wizards, it was possible that, at some point, Minerva McGonagall had lived without magic. "Have you- was there ever a time when you thought, I mean,  _considered_  that some things might be better- _beneficial_  to the wizarding community if we adopted them from... or were allowed to take part in... umm..."

McGonagall clicked her tongue impatiently, but her eyes filled with sympathy and understanding. "Would I be correct to assume you are considering The Choice? Between the magical and non-magical world." The surprise on Hermione's face was more than enough confirmation. McGonagall nodded solemnly and folded her hands once more over her lap. "Many young wizards find themselves questioning where they fit in the world after completing their studies. Magical communities are, afterall, small and few compared to Muggle populations. And it's perfectly natural for some to discover that they are capable... even suited to life without magic." She caught Hermione's disbelieving look and sighed. "I really must have a course organized to better inform students of life after Hogwarts, especially those without parents sensible or knowledgeable enough to teach them..." Her voice trailed briefly as memories drifted to a once-beloved field in the countryside and all the joy she had found there. She shook the sound of a young man's laughter from her mind. "It shouldn't be regarded as a shameful choice. If all witches and wizards that have come through Hogwarts' doors stayed witches and wizards in their lifetime, why, I imagine we'd have something closer to magical metropolises than towns. And I assure you, it would be much rarer to be 'Muggleborn'. Magic is in the blood, and though it may skip generations when mixed with non-magic, it never forgets."

"But must it be one or the other? Surely the statute of secrecy has had enough exceptions over the years, especially with Muggleborns, that-"

"It must, I'm afraid. You know our history better than most historians, Miss Granger." McGonagall watched curiously as Hermione's brow furrowed. She could practically  _see_  her building an argument in that brilliant mind. "Perhaps it will help if you told me what it is, exactly, that has your mind so preoccupied."

Hermione's gaze swept over the room slowly. "I...I have an idea. It's prolific, so I'll probably need permission... and support from the bank... maybe even The Ministry." Her eyes rested at last on her former teacher. She took a deep breath. "I'd like to go back to school. Muggle college, to be precise. I'm sure I can get the entrance requirements on my own and it would provide the perfect opportunity to learn about current technology. I'm certain we could benefit from modernizing. Start small. Communication, for example! Magic is the most secure way of transporting sensitive information, of course, but what about everyday? Have you  _seen_  how small cell phones have gotten? Being able to converse over huge distances without a trace of detectable magic would be huge in my line of work. And imagine the possibilities if we integrated such technolo-"

McGonagall stopped her with a sharply raised hand. "You would not be the first to raise such an idea. Nor will you be the last."

"But surely-"

"Save your breath, Miss Granger. I agree with you  _completely_."

Hermione blinked. "Then what-?"

"While it's true that Gringotts is less restrictive about Muggle relations than The Ministry  _and_  quicker to adopt innovations improving efficiency, the risk of exposure simply grows too high too fast."

Hermione's shoulders slumped. McGonagall smiled sadly. "It's politics, my dear. I'm not saying you shouldn't try. As the most celebrated of war heroines, you currently hold as much sway and influence in the wizarding world as holding the title of Headmaster. Which is to say, you will get further than most. But you must be ready for consequences. Even Dumbledore wasn't immune to criticism and opposition."

"So no matter what, I'll need to make The Choice?"

"You must be prepared to, yes." McGonagall rose to her feet and patted Hermione's hand farewell. "My advice to you, Miss Granger, is that you make your choice before something ...or  _someone_... chooses for you."

* * *

Hermione stepped off the train at King's Cross station. Her breath was a puff of white smoke when she exhaled, and a cold draft prickled the hair on her neck. She flipped her jacket collar up and pulled her cap lower in the back to cover the exposed skin.

That was one thing she'd forgotten about short hair.

It had been a week since the nurse at the hospital had kindly recommended a local salon to Hermione before she'd been released. The coarse cut she was given in the emergency room made her naturally bushy hair even more unruly, and she'd been persuaded to try a much shorter, bolder hairstyle. She didn't feel like the bushy-haired girl from Hogwarts anymore, so why not change her look as well?

It had been painful to see locks she'd fought long and hard to grow and tame be snipped away. But the "pixie cut" that resulted – at first, Hermione didn't recognise the woman staring back at her in the mirror. The change was dramatic, and the overall effect was as  _surprising_  as it was extremely _flattering_. To Hermione's delight, she learnt that she need only rub a toothpaste-portion of styling cream on her fingertips before running them through her hair for a wispy, playful look.

_Playful_ _._  That was a word she'd never thought to describe herself with.

Feeling cold and a little indulgent, Hermione took a detour from the platform. In a few minutes, she was seated in a small bistro with a hot cup of mint-chocolate warming her hands. She removed her cap and was busy mixing extra cream into her drink when a young woman walked by, did a double-take, and backtracked curiously to her table.

"Hermione?"

The other woman's eyes went wide as Hermione looked up. "Ohhh, it IS you!"

She looked familiar, but it took a whole second for Hermione to reference the face to a name. She smiled sheepishly. "Hello, Cho."

"I almost didn't recognise you with your hair so- but you look amazing!" Hermione blushed and mumbled a thank you, which Cho Chang eagerly took as an invitation to join her table. She eyed the rucksack on the seat beside her and raised a brow. "Where'd you just come in from? Are you here for the holidays?" Her smile waned as she noticed Hermione eyeing the bistro doors. Cho pursed her lips. "Sorry, you're probably expecting someone." Now it was her turn to blush and she made to leave. "I should go, anyway. It was good seeing you.."

"No."

Cho stared, confused, as Hermione gestured for her to take the seat again. "No, I'm not expecting anyone and- and it's been a while, hasn't it? If you're not in a rush, please, I'd like to hear how you are."

"Really?"

"Yeah. It's good to see a familiar face."  _That isn't a Weasley_ , she thought and forced a smile on her lips.

The Ravenclaw's eyes lit up, and she spoke animatedly while Hermione casually sipped her drink. At first, Cho tried to engage her with questions about her activities and others they both knew, but it had made Hermione uncomfortable (she couldn't bring up the Weasley name without instantly associating it with Ron, and she was sure Cho would pick up on the definite lack of Harry's name). Sensing her reluctance, Cho subtly dropped her inquiries and focused on herself instead. She was not ashamed to say she'd seen a therapist after the war. A Muggle one who specialized in loss and trauma. Cho admitted she'd been distraught for a much longer time, and her parents had grown concerned when she withdrew from social circles. Cho's frankness surprised Hermione, and though she was careful to speak solely of her own experience, there was unspoken sympathy and understanding in her eyes. Talking, apparently, was very therapeutic, and Hermione was impressed by how calm and steady she was when she mentioned Cedric. Cho's smile came soft and easy, and Hermione couldn't help but feel envious. She seemed so grounded and sure of herself that Hermione couldn't reconcile the poor impression she had of the Ravenclaw during their Hogwarts years.

A sharp ringing interrupted Cho and her hands immediately dug into her jacket pocket to pull out a cell phone. She flipped it open and glanced apologetically at Hermione. "Sorry, do you mind?"

Hermione shook her head and tried to be very interested in the now-cold drink in her hands as Cho tucked her hair behind her ear and took the call. She tried not to look too surprised that Cho not only had a cell phone, but was using it to speak to her mother. Wasn't she from an entirely wizarding family? With the exception of the Weasleys, most wizarding families Hermione knew were either oblivious or had no interest in modern technology.

"Yes, mum. Yes. Tonight." Cho laughed at something said on the other end and Hermione tried hard not to notice the sudden flush of pink in Cho's cheek. "He is nervous but excited. Could you remind Dad about his shoes?" Her eyes shot up then and caught Hermione staring. She smiled. "Because dragon yellow is  _too eccentric_ , mum. I'm sure. Okay. We'll see you soon. Love you.."

Hermione waited for Cho to put the phone away before raising her brow in question. Cho smiled shyly, but her face radiated with barely restrained glee. "It's sort of a big night," she explained, her smile widening. "I'd never seen my parents so excited over- oh my, I really should be on my way to see him now!"

_Him._  "He— I'm guessing boyfriend? —isn't a wizard, is he?"

Cho's cheeks turned a deeper shade of pink as she nodded in confirmation. But then she frowned and her eyes darkened. "It's why the others are now too busy for me. My _best_  friends—" she shook her head and sighed. "No. It's water under the bridge. _'We each take our own paths to discover what's really important,'_  that's what my dad said." Cho brought a hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh, though it sounded a bit strained to Hermione. "Oh gosh, I'm babbling. I'm sorry! I don't resent them anymore, really. To be honest, it's a relief not having that kind of attention and pressure. And I know how lucky I am that my parents have been so supportive of- well,  _everything_  now." She reached over and placed her hands over Hermione's. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For listening. These days, I don't have many I can really talk to." She squeezed Hermione's hands and stood up. "It was good seeing you, Hermione."

Hermione also stood and closed the distance to embrace Cho. "It was good to see you, too." And she genuinely meant it. Cho understood… would be able to understand Hermione's inner turmoil. And it was a comfort to know she was not the only one tempted by both worlds. After a moment of surprise, Cho returned the hug.

When they parted, she hastily scribbled a number on a napkin and handed it to Hermione. "Let's not be strangers, yeah?"

Hermione met Cho's hopeful gaze with a warm and genuine smile as she accepted the phone number.

"Let's."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Random fact: As I was writing this, I had unofficially (and with questionable humor) dubbed this chapter Bechdelicus testimus.
> 
> I am curious to know what you think about the story so far. Please comment and let me know!


	9. Where we stand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: In my headcanon, Hermione's Disney princess is Belle. Even before Emma Watson was even considered for the live-action role, I thought Beauty and the Beast was Hermione's fairytale. An intelligent, bookish girl everyone thought was a bit odd, who falls in love with a 'diamond in the rough'... it's the best explanation I could come up with for Ron, so it stuck.
> 
> As a point of reference, this chapter starts on Christmas eve, 1999. Assuming I didn't muck this up, that's 1 1/2 years since the war and still a few months before the first Weasley baby is born.

 The holiday season was in full swing. Diagon Alley bustled with activity and carollers had found a spot just outside the café to sing the wizarding version of the 12 Days of Christmas. Hermione grinned into her butterbeer everytime they got to "five rainbow puffskeins". It was certainly a welcome distraction from the butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

Molly Weasley had written the week before expressing her delight that Hermione would be joining them for Christmas eve dinner, and disappointment that she would be unable to stay for Christmas day. Was she sure her parents wouldn't like to join them?

There was a not-so-subtle air about the message that expressed frustration about the terms Hermione had stated, but she had remained firm in her resolve. It had been one too many Christmases without her parents already, and though they never begrudged her for it, she felt she owed them this…owed  _herself_  this. And the decision filled a part of her heart that she hadn't realized had been unsatisfied till now.

Besides, it greatly reduced the time spent assaulted by faces and memories Hermione was not entirely sure she could withstand without threatening her carefully constructed composure. She knew Molly and Harry would prod cautiously about the past year, but Ginny would be frank and forward about it. It was a trait Hermione had always admired and only recently dreaded.

Because it wasn't just the past anymore that was a sensitive topic. It was the future, too.

McGonagall had confirmed her suspicions almost immediately, and it terrified Hermione to think that someone else- someone closer- would not only figure out Hermione's secret and very personal indecision in the course of the evening, but unknowingly expose her as well. Of course, they'd act with their best intentions at heart. But it made McGonagall's warning startlingly clear.

_Make your choice before something ...or someone... chooses for you._

Once the Weasleys knew that she, Hermione Granger, was contemplating a Muggle lifestyle over a wizarding career, she would indeed be forced her hand. An unbiased, guilt-ridden hand. And if she was being honest, Hermione wasn't ready for that. Not yet.

So she'd have to be careful.

"Hermione?"

She turned and a smile spread instantly across her face. "Charlie!" she greeted and waved him over to the empty seat across from her.

He gave her a sheepish grin as he sat down. "I wasn't sure it was you. Your hair—it's different."

Hermione ruffled visibly. " _Good_ different _?"_

"Sorry," he chuckled. "Yes. Not like you at all. I mean, what normally would be you... and your hair."

Hermione raised her brow speculatively.

"I failed that compliment," he admitted with a sigh of defeat, and was relieved when Hermione giggled.

"Thank you," she smiled and there was genuine delight in her eyes. "And thank you for meeting with me. Something tells me it's not safe to arrive at The Burrow alone."

Now it was Charlie's turn to laugh. "Not if you've been keeping to yourself for the past year, no. I'm not sure whose curiosity is bigger at the moment, mum's or Ginny's."

Hermione rolled her eyes and groaned. So her suspicions were true.

"Just don't get caught alone during the evening. And if conversation starts heading somewhere you're not comfortable with, just change the topic to Fleur."

"Why?"

"Because however curious the family is about you," Charlie winked conspiratorially, "it'll be nothing compared to Bill and Fleur's surprise."

Hermione's eyes widen as Charlie answers her unspoken question with, "you'll see."

They finish their drinks in pleasant silence and, after a few minutes, find themselves wading through the crowded Diagon Alley. Hermione is manoeuvring her way in the direction of the Leaky Cauldron when a strong hand grabs her wrist and stops her progress. Charlie grins at her and points at the twin's emporium in the very centre of the shopping frenzy. "Safety in numbers, yeah?" he cries out over the crowd. His hand slips from her wrist and Hermione has no choice but to follow the head of flaming red hair towards Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

* * *

 

Fred hastily makes his way down the stairs of his shop, expertly side-stepping a group of Hogwarts students, catching the eye of one of his part-time employees, pointing him in the direction of the students mouthing the words  _watch them_ , and grabbing his jacket from behind the counter. "Verity! Have you seen—"

"They're waiting for you out front." she replies, not missing a beat as she rings in another set of customer purchases.

"Thanks," Fred says as he shoots his hands though the jacket sleeves. He then grabs an envelope from his pocket and slides it into Verity's apron pocket with a wink and a flash of his best Weasley smile. "Merry Christmas from us both!"

He pushes his way through the customers, confident that their number one employee (more like manager, if he and George were being honest) would be more than satisfied with the holiday bonus they've given her. He is just steps from the front door when a bright light flashes distractedly in his eyes. He blinks, momentarily blinded, and sees a woman near the front door holding up one of their newest products; a shiny glass bottle that, at its current angle, sparkles with reflected light. She must have been browsing their packed and stuffy store for a while, because a winter coat is draped casually over one arm.

Fred pauses and takes a moment to straighten out his jacket and run a hand through his hair. Unlike most of his female clientele, this woman sports short brown hair curling at the nape of her neck in a thoroughly modern cut. Rarely did a witch sport short hair, much less a cut trending with Muggles. The A-line dress she wears is equally striking, hand-tailored for a classic elegance not easily replicated with magic. Fred bites his lower lip and wonders vaguely if she is as stunning as she seems from behind. He clears his throat and steps up behind her, "The Fairytale Collection is part of our holiday special. Beauty and the Beast comes in both musical and classic—"

Hazel eyes turn his way and Fred's jaw drops. She  _is_  stunning… and achingly familiar. "Granger," he says, flustered.

"Fred," she greets warmly but with a slight frown, unsure about his reaction to her, and puts the product down. "You've added themes to your daydream charms."

"Yes," he exhales deeply, feeling a mild flush rise to his cheeks. "The creativity of the subconscious varies from person to person. The Fairytale line offers the subconscious some helpful prompts to guarantee a certain kind of daydream experience."

Hermione nods thoughtfully as she traces her fingers lightly over the bottle. She then turns her gaze to him and there is a spark in her eyes that is almost…  _playful?_  Fred blinks. "I'm guessing these are popular at the moment."

"Our best-sellers."

Hermione tilts her head and smiles broadly, "Quite right."

And maybe it's the light streaming through the window… maybe it's the hair and the dress… or maybe it's the genuine, whole-hearted smile that makes her look so enchanting and ethereal in that moment. Fred's breath catches. This woman is  _nothing_  like the dark and broody witch he'd confronted weeks ago in a German hotel room.

"You look stunning, Hermione."

She pauses at that, at the frank honesty in his tone, and smiles as she hooks an arm under one of his. "Come on, your brothers are waiting."

* * *

 

They travel the floo network from The Leaky Cauldron to The Burrow. Fred and George step through the fireplace first, setting off small fireworks in their wake. The effect is a spectacularly loud and vibrant entrance for a very shocked Charlie. The spectacle attracts cries and a few extra faces from nearby rooms, and it's into this boisterous chaos that the fourth and final guest steps through the fireplace. Charlie extends a hand out to her just as she's nearly knocked over by a rushing Ginny.

"Hermione!"

She squeezes Charlie's hand in surprise as Ginny's arms wrap around her tightly. For a few moments, her vision is tinted ginger. Then Ginny pulls away just enough to look her over, her wide-eyes unable to leave Hermione's head. "You cut your hair!"

A mess of black, longer than she last remembered, appears beside Ginny and Hermione finds herself once more in a merciless embrace. This time, Hermione reaches over with her free arm and returns the hug. "Hullo, Harry."

"Good to see you, Hermione." He grins as he steps back and puts an arm around Ginny. The red-head is still staring critically at Hermione, but her eyes have fallen from Hermione's hair to her hand locked firmly in Charlie's. "You look great."

"Incredible, I said." George pitches in, draping an arm on his twin's shoulder and pointing, "but Fred here was  _absolutely_  gobbersmacked!"

Fred snorted, "I was not."

"Your ears are red, mate."

"Stray firework."

"Of course," George teases and disappears into the kitchen. A cry of joy and exclamation of  _Mother dearest!_ is heard shortly before Molly Weasley enters the room with arms held wide open.

"Oh, my boys!" she cries as she pulls Fred and Charlie into her arms. Hermione's hand slips from Charlie's then and she takes a step back to mentally steel herself. It's another moment before the Weasley matron's eyes fall on her and they go wide with surprise. She pushes past her sons and raises her hand to tuck a stray hair behind Hermione's ear. "Oh, my darling," she sighs, and there is a touch of sadness in her voice.  _If Ron could've seen..._ "How lovely you've become."

Alarm flashes across Hermione's face before wariness creeps in. A cough from Fred catches Molly's attention, and she remembers his warning from day before.

_Don't get overly sappy. It gets uncomfortable when you cry._

_What if I'm just happy?_

_It's still awkward, mum. She's going to clamp up._

Sure enough, a blankness spreads across Hermione's face. Molly shakes it off with a chuckle and gives her a greeting kiss on both cheeks. "Come in, come in! Dinner is nearly ready!"

* * *

 

The evening progresses as well as Hermione hopes. Polite inquiries are made about her work. Harry expresses some concern over the incident leading to her (and she stresses,  _brief)_ hospitalization, but does not suspect anything beyond exhaustion and bad luck. He's mostly content to have his best friend back, happily drawing parallels between curse-breaker and auror training. Ginny is unusually quiet for the most part, and when she briefly leaves to help her mother with dessert, Hermione asks about them. Harry smiles and she knows from the way his eyes brighten that they are more than "just golden". Of course, this opens the subject of her own dating status. Fortunately, Hermione has a ready answer.

She wasn't sure at first if Fred had told anyone besides George about the evening in the club. She was fairly certain George knew  _something_  because of the way he'd looked directly at her when he'd teased Fred about her. But the general topic of questions directed her way never got more specific than the sights she saw on her travels, so after the first two hours she relaxed.

Between Charlie, Fred, and George, conversation remained cheery and light-hearted as they boasted about their latest projects. Honourable mention was given to Hermione's contributions to the  _babble ear_ , which had a highly successful and well-received demonstration at The Ministry. As Charlie had predicted, Bill and Fleur's late arrival stirred quite a bit of commotion as she sported a small but obvious baby bump. Molly Weasley was beside herself with excitement and devoted the rest of her evening fussing over Fleur.

Unfortunately for Hermione, Ginny was not so easily distracted. She'd spent most of the evening observing Hermione and her brothers, particularly Charlie, whom she'd never seen quite as attentive to another person as he was with Hermione. The way he watched her when she answered questions and pulled her chair out for her when she got up... it made her wonder. Nevermind that Harry already inquired about Hermione's dating status- "an encounter or two" was ambiguous enough to hint at pretty much anything. And  _pretty much anything_ , in Ginny's books, was a clue that there were definitely specific  _somethings_  that Hermione was reluctant to divulge. At the moment, anyway.

When some of the party moves to the living area, Ginny makes sure to grab the seat beside Hermione. She wastes no time and blurts, "What happened in Germany?"

The question catches Hermione by surprise, and she chews her bottom lip to hold back an immediate response. She eyes Ginny warily and asks instead, "What do you mean?"

Ginny decides to go with her suspicions. "You and Charlie."

"We bumped into each other at a café," Hermione answers slow and cautiously. "He invited me to see dragons. And who says no to dragons?"

"So..." Ginny leans in close and her voice falls to a whisper, "like a date?"

Hermione pulls back, her brow raised in surprise. Then the words seem to sink in and she bursts with laughter. "No, of course not! Not with Fred and George around!"

"Whatever we're talking about," Fred announces as he claims the seat opposite to the girls, "I object."

"What  _are_  we talking about?" George asks as he flops into the chair beside Ginny.

" _We_  are talking about none of your business!" Ginny snaps. She shoots an annoyed look at Fred but he ignores her, choosing instead to lean over, his elbows resting on both knees, and winking at Hermione.

"So, what can't be said around Fred and George?"

Wide, hazel eyes stare blankly at him. "Nothing. You just misunderstood."

"Why do people always say Fred  _then_ George? Why is it never George  _then_ Fred?"

"Because I'm older and better-looking," Fred smirks, his gaze sharpening on Hermione. "Don't you agree?"

She looks at him appraisingly and grunts in response. "Hardly," she replies with a hint of a smile curling the edge of her lips.

George howls with laughter as his twin's smirk momentarily falters. "Face the music, Fred! Hermione's definitely out of your league!" He elbows his sister conversationally. "It was the same in Germany."

Ginny raises her brow curiously. "What?"

"W-What?" Hermione echoes and her stomach sinks with dread.

"At the club," George says. "Fred saw her on the balcony and—"

"I TOLD YOU—" Fred cuts in with a pained look on his face. "I read it wrong, mate!"

The silence is as sudden as it is awkward. Fred glares daggers at his twin brother. George, to his credit, looks pensive as he mouths the word  _oops_  and shrugs. Hermione stares warily at George, then Fred. Ginny's eyes dart back and forth between her brothers and Hermione for a few moments before she sighs loudly in frustration. "What happened?!"

Three voices answer her simultaneously, " _Nothing._ "

"You don't read  _nothing_ ," she says pointedly to Fred, focusing her attention on him. "And  _why_  would you even drag Hermione to a club? That is definitely  _not_  her kind of thing," she says dismissively.

"Not  _my_   _thing?_ " Hermione cries, finding offense with her tone. "You shouldn't presume to know what  _my thing_ is. A lot has changed. A lot!  _Christ_ , the club was  _my idea_ and I quite genuinely enjoyed myself!"

"A little too much," Fred quips, which earns him a heated glare.

Hermione stands with a frustrated huff. Her fists clench at her sides and she can feel her temper rising, though she can't honestly say why. Everyone is staring at her in stunned silence, and when she meets their gazes she can't help but wonder if all they saw was some snooty, former prefect getting upset at being called  _boring_. Take away her boys and isn't that what's left? The thought is irrational and wrong, but it makes her eyes glaze with tears, anyway.

"Sorry, 'mione." Ginny says quietly.

Hermione closes her eyes for a moment to calm herself. A part of her is already feeling guilty for the outburst, but another part is strangely relieved. "I need some air," she mumbles as she exits the room and steps out of the house.

The evening air is crisp and cool against her skin, and the silence that immediately surrounds her is welcoming. She hugs herself to keep her warmth and walks out a few metres from the house. The night had not turned out as she'd hoped.

It was also not as terrible as she'd feared. Fred hadn't told anyone about the club nor what he'd seen outside it, that much was certain. This both surprises and concerns Hermione - namely the  _why?_ \- but for now she's grateful for his (and by extension, George's) silence. Ginny's question about Charlie puzzled her at first, but shouldn't have been so surprising considering how close she'd stayed with him during the dinner. He'd volunteered himself as an emotional shield, her 'unofficial date', knowing full well how it might look. And Hermione is certain he'd have gotten a kick out of Ginny jumping straight to that conclusion, if he'd heard. He was the older brother of career pranksters, after all.

She hears the back door open and close and she shivers - not from the cold, but from the inevitable company she's about to have. Unhurried footsteps stop a few paces behind her. Hermione closes her eyes and waits.

"It's rather chilly, isn't it?"

A second passes, then two. Hermione opens her eyes and turns slowly.

"Here," Harry extends his arm, holding a woollen blanket out to her.

"Thanks," Hermione murmurs as she takes it and wraps it around her shoulders.

Harry tucks his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels. "Are you okay?"

Hermione nods sheepishly.

"She didn't mean it, you know."

"I know."

He takes a tentative step forward. "Are you coming back inside?"

Hermione thinks about Fleur and Molly and the other guests who, thankfully, were probably still in the kitchen and hadn't seen or heard her little outburst. "In a bit, maybe."

"Oh," Harry pauses. Nervously, he pushes his glasses up his nose. "Would you mind if I stay?"

Hermione's expression softens. "Of course not," she says and closes the gap to wrap the blanket around both of them.

* * *

 

 "I don't want details," Charlie says as he releases his grip on his brother's arm and steps back, "but I do want you to talk."

Fred's lips twist wryly, "You know me, I can talk for miles and mean nothing. Be more specific."

Charlie folds his arms across his chest and purses his lips thoughtfully. Ginny had cornered George because she believed he was the weaker link. But Charlie suspected, based on what he'd overheard, that the answers were with Fred and Fred alone.

"What happened between you and Hermione?"

"Nothing happened."

" _Something_  clearly happened."

"And I'm telling you,  _nothing_ did!"

Charlie's eyes narrow as he watches Fred run a hand through his hair. "Nothing is still something," he realizes and Fred nods.

Charlie tries again. "What happened to Hermione in Germany?"

Fred's eyes grow dark then, and a sudden quirk of his lips makes Charlie uneasy. "Why, brother, you seem very interested in her."

"I'm concerned," he replies coolly.

"Why?" Fred continues stubbornly. "You never showed interest before. Is it because she's our little brother's dearest—"

" _Fred_ ," Charlie's tone is stern and 100% big-brother authoritative. "Please."

The younger Weasley sighs and sulks against a wall. "Alright. I don't know what happened, exactly, but something about her was  _different_  that night. Something… something, I don't know what." Fred eyes the corridor warily and when he speaks again, his voice is barely over a whisper. "She performed a memory charm on a Muggle she sno—she  _liked_."

Charlie frowned. "Why?"

"That's what I didn't get!" Fred hissed and threw his hands up in emphasis. "When I confronted her, she got rightly miffed and scary. Blurted stuff like 'you Weasleys are all the same' and such."

"That doesn't sound right."

"Exactly what I thought. I mean, you, Bill, George and I are like peas in a pod, I don't deny that. But  _Percy_..."

Charlie shakes his head and chuckles. He takes a moment to study his brother, hands shucked into his jacket pockets and stealing glances out the window. He repeats Fred's taunt from earlier as a statement of fact. "You're interested in her."

Fred grins devilishly and opens his mouth for a clever retort, but then he hesitates and his expression sobers. There was little point bantering with Charlie, he realized, when he already saw through the sharp humour. "In a way," he admits carefully. "I'm also concerned."

Charlie claps a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Well, come on then. We can't leave a lady waiting."


	10. A glimpse of you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience and the comments so far! I am truly sorry for the long gaps between chapters. Unfortunately, it's hard to find enough time to sit and get the story going the way I would like it to. The good news is that the next chapter is already about 1/4 written (it's a direct continuation, I just didn't want this to be too long). I can also see the ending in the horizon - of questionable but foreseeable distance! I've also begun to toy with the idea of this story being the basis for a series of one-shots, but it'll really depend on how this will end.

 

 

A light tap-tap on the window stirred Hermione from her slumber.  “Coming,” she grumbled as she pushed herself up from her childhood bed. A quick glance at the clock told her it was just past 6am on Christmas morning.

She yawned as she unlatched the window and stepped back as a large, beautiful snow owl hopped in and onto her rug. A handful of gift-wrapped presents balanced precariously on the sill. Hermione scooped them up and placed them on her bed before closing the window. She found a treat for the snow owl and pet her lightly.

Intrigued, Hermione sat beside the presents and reached for the one with a card on top. It read _Merry Christmas from the Weasley family_ and was addressed to Hermione’s parents, so she put it aside. The next two were smaller -- a soft bundle wrapped in tissue paper, most likely a knitted sweater from Molly Weasley, and a dazzling box wrapped in midnight-purple and twinkling stars.

Large owl eyes watched her curiously as she delicately removed the wrapping from the box. Inside, Hermione found two crystal bottles and a Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes business card with the words, _I wasn’t sure which one you’d like,_ hastily written on the back.

She frowned slightly at the "I"-- who could it be?  -- but then she took another look at the bottles and it dawned on her. Daydream charms. Fairytale-themed, _Beauty and the Beast_ daydream charms in classic and musical.

“Oh, _Fred_ …” she smiled wistfully. The snow owl leaped gingerly beside her and gave an encouraging _hoot_ before nudging her arm with its head. "They _are_ beautiful, aren't they?" she said as she stroked the soft feathers on its back.

It turned its head and nipped her fingers, not all too gently. Hermione yelped and frowned at the bird. “What was that for?” It gave another _hoot_ and tilted its head towards the box. Hermione shrugged and reached a hand inside. Sure enough, her fingers brushed against the corners of a notecard beneath several layers of wrapping tissue. She pulled it out.

Handwritten in gold ink was a personal invitation to Fred and George's New Year’s party extravaganza.  Her eyes did a double-take on the venue and she gasped – a Muggle establishment at the heart of London, near St. James and overlooking the Thames! For the twins to procure such a venue was a as much a statement as it was a bold show of their business success. An R.S.V.P., however, was immediately required so Hermione stood up and went to her drawer. She honestly couldn't think of a better way to bring in the new millenium. _However..._

Hermione chewed on a pen as she mused over the _plus one_ option. After a long moment, she came to a decision, wrote it down, and walked over to open the windowsill. The snow owl hopped over and she slipped a sheet of paper into the mail sleeve strapped to its leg. It gave a final, satisfied _hoot_ and flew off.

\---xxx---

It seemed like New Year’s Eve came sooner than expected. To Fred, at least, who spent the past few days finalizing inventory and planning last-minute arrangements for their millenium party. He rubbed his temple and grumbled as he signed off on yet another bill for the venue and passed it to his brother. "That better be the last one!"

"For the year, at least." George sighed. He raised a brow at Fred's weary expression. "Regrets?"

Fred leaned back in his chair and gave a lazy grin. "Nah, it'll be worth it." But a Muggle venue required a certain amount of Muggle services... and wizard precautions... to avoid unwanted suspicion. Over 200 wizards and witches were expected to attend, and it seemed prudent to ensure _non-magical_ transportation services would be available between Diagon Alley and the venue.

George pulled open a scroll and scanned the list of names on it carefully. "Last-minute cancellation by Percy. Working late at the Ministry, he says."

"He will be missed," Fred said dryly and yawned.

"Hmm, this is interesting."

Fred folded his hands behind his head and reclined further in the chair. His eyes narrowed suspiciously at the grin pulling on George's lip. "Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Have your tease! You obviously want to."

The grin spread across George's face as he rolled the scroll back up. "Hermione's plus one. Want to know who it is?"

Fred's eyes flickered colourfully for a moment. Then he pushed himself off from the table and stood up. "But that would rob you of the joy of my reaction," he said, his smile a little too sharp. "I would not deprive you of that, brother."

George opened his mouth to retort, but thought better of it and nodded instead. "You're right, brother," he said with equal mocking. "No reason to spoil a good surprise, eh?"

Fred was not going to be baited into a dance around the subject of one, Hermione Granger. He stalked across the room to the door and gave a parting salute, signalling the official end of their business meeting.

"I'll just sort these papers myself, yeah?" George called out with mild irritation.

"That'd be swell, George!" Fred replied coolly, not bothering to look back. "See you at our party!"

Of course George knew. He had suspected something, at first, with the change in his brother's demeanour whenever the topic of the petite brunette came up (which became a regular occurrence after the Christmas dinner). His careful (and not so careful) prodding suggested that this _something_ definitely started that night in Germany, but that even Fred wasn't certain what that something was. Curiosity, perhaps. George hadn't even been certain there was genuine attraction until Christmas day, when he watched Fred's face contort into a mixture of irritation and disappointment upon reading that Hermione would have a plus one. No one else's response got half as much notice from Fred. To confirm his theory, George carefully asked if they should meet with Katie and Angelina before the party. His brother’s blank stare said it all.

Ironically, it was that same moment when Fred realized it himself… he _fancied_ Granger. Bossy, know-it-all, teacher’s pet Granger! _But she’s more than that,_ he reminded himself. _Brave, clever, fiercely loyal_ – all traits he easily admired. _Witty when she wanted to be, talented with magic, and Ron’s almost…_

Fred sighed.

He was, first and foremost, concerned about her well-being. They’d all suffered losses in the war and had scars to prove it. Some, however, were not as obvious as others. Hermione was hiding hers a little too well. Her behaviour that night in Germany was like an itch Fred couldn’t scratch, and he couldn’t stop feeling like there was something very telling about it that was crucial to his understanding of her.

_It’s called Denial,_ spoke a cynical voice in his head, a _nd Regret. She abandoned her usual reserve that night, kissed a man, and it wasn’t you._

Fred ran a hand through his hair in frustration. The fact of the matter was that he couldn’t resist a good puzzle, especially ones that promised such a tantalizing secret. He remembered how Hermione’s eyes had darkened and her demeanour shifted when he’d confronted her about that night. And again when she’d thought he’d given her away.

He dreamt about her. In his dreams, he would find Hermione in the fields outside the Burrow, a dark beauty crackling with power and magic and _raging_ at him about it being all wrong. There was something eerily familiar about the way she’d say it, tears streaming down illuminated cheeks, which made Fred’s stomach coil uneasily. His mind kept wandering back to the dream, the night club in Germany, and morbidly enough… the final battle in Hogwarts. They were connected, Fred knew. He just needed to get Hermione alone long enough to find out how. At the very least, to gain another piece to her puzzle.

But if Fred were truly being honest with himself, he'd admit to hoping for something a bit more for the evening.

\---xxx---

“Are you sure you wouldn’t have rather—?“

“Oh, stop it!” Hermione laughed and hooked her arm under her date’s, guiding them both up the stairs. “For the last time, I am _delighted_ you could come with me. I'm sure you and your boyfriend had plans."

“But he insisted I come!" Cho exclaimed. "He saw that it was a big deal for me and a perfect opportunity to spend time with old friends." She glanced nervously at the group of wizards and witches crowding the door. A giant of a man towered before them, guarding the entrance and turning away those who didn't hold a proper invitation. “I’ve never been to such a party!"

"Neither have I."

Hermione pushed through the crowd confidently, pulling a reluctant Cho with her. The giant's eyes darted to the two young witches as they approached. "Invitation?" he asked.

Hermione held the paper out to the guard and it immediately dissolved into bright, magenta-tinted smoke. The guard nodded and gestured them inside, bumping away some eager partygoers in the process. A hostess greeted them in the hall and offered them a glass of champagne before directing them through velvet, midnight-purple curtains. The darkness engulfed them immediately, but the ladies giggled as a trail of shimmering stars appeared above their head, lighting the path through the corridor.

"How beautiful!" said Cho.

"I'm so glad you like them," came a voice beside her. One of the twins appeared and held his arm out to her. Hermione squinted in the dimly lit corridor, but it was difficult to tell which one. "I've found that in our line of business, it’s an attention to detail that often make or break a product."

"But we don't limit the idea to just our products," a breath whispered in Hermione's ear, making her jump.

"What are you doing, lurking like creeps at your own party!" Hermione cried as a hand pressed gently against the small of her back, pushing her forward.

"We're not lurking," said the twin behind her.

"Nor creeping," said the other, who was also leading Cho forward. "We were merely observing our incoming guests."

"But speaking of details, it's about time we made our entrance--"

"With two beautiful women at our sides!"

"If you'd allow us the honour, of course."

"Well," Cho squeaked and her blush was obvious even in the dark. "I _was_ looking forward to walking in with Hermione."

"You don't say!"

"Blast it all!"

"How did we miscalculate so badly?!"

"BUT--" Cho continued. "I happily accept if Hermione does."

Hermione felt a hand slip into hers and squeeze. The hand was warm and the squeeze encouraging. "I think..." she started, feeling silly that four grown adults were standing in the dark like they were. "I think it's alright if we still get the first dance."

"Quite right!" Cho laughed. "You're my date, afterall."

"Er, that's a yes, then?" asked Cho's escort after a moment.

"Yes."

Hermione's escort chuckled and let his hand slide from hers. "Let's be grateful, George. Who knows how long we'd have to wait for another lovely pair to stroll in?"

_Fred_ , Hermione thought and stilled.

"There wasn't going to be another pair. Angelina and Katie are already inside!"

"Well, there you go."

 They reached the end of the corridor and positioned themselves side-by-side. Fred offered his arm to Hermione with a curious brow. "Is this okay?"

She nodded and smiled. Standing beside Cho reminded her a lot of the Triwizard ball. She held Fred's arm and he grinned.

"Right then.."

George snapped his fingers and the curtains parted to reveal a long and elegant banquet hall. To their left were floor-to-ceiling windows that opened up to a balcony with a marvellous view of the Thames. The hall was warmly lit and full of colourfully (if not precisely well-) dressed men and women who were all, slowly, turning their gazes up at their entrance. George and Cho started down the stairs, a pleased looks on both their faces.

Hermione turned to Fred grinning and about to speak, but was stunned by the curious cascade of expressions that flashed across his face when their eyes met:  joy, fear, pleasure, doubt-- and something darker that Hermione couldn't quite place. A knot tightened in her gut and, unconsciously, she licked her lower lip. Fred seemed to remember himself then, his humour returning as he leaned down and brushed his lips lightly on her cheek. "You look splendid," he said softly.

Hermione looked away as her cheeks warmed. “Shall we?”

Without waiting for an answer, Hermione started down the stairs with Fred in tow. She forced a wide grin on her face as she looked out at the crowd.

“Can we—“ started Fred, teeth bared in a forced smile for the crowd. “I’d like to talk with you. Privately.”

Hermione tilted her head in his direction and her hand began to slip from his arm. “What for?”

Fred tried not to wince at the immediate suspicion in her tone. He reached over and placed his free hand firmly on hers, holding her in place. “ _Please,_ Hermione.”

To everyone around them, Fred was bright, dashing, and radiating with confidence. But when their eyes met, the humour drained from Fred’s face. His smile wavered and there was uncertainty in his eyes. He looked…

Hermione shook her head and pulled her hand forcefully from his grip.  She didn’t like how he looked, but the hurt in his reaction also made her hesitate. Already, the crowd was pushing towards them, eager to get a piece of their charming hosts. “Find me later,” she breathed and disappeared into the crowd.


	11. Just like this

Hermione drifted amongst the guests, declining the handful of invitations to join certain groups, and wandered along the edge of the dance floor. The twins had quite a successful turnout, with at least two highly-appointed Ministry members, a handful of Gringott's executives, and three professional quidditch captains that Hermione could identify from the crowd.

And there were just as many beautiful, part-Veela witches. She recognized them by their entourage of admirers, over half of which were former classmates. Hermione rolled her eyes and started in the opposite direction.

She didn't get very far before Cho caught up with her and literally dragged her onto the dance floor. She too had been overwhelmed by the onslaught of witches (and a few wizards) vying for the attention of their most generous hosts. "They're very popular," observed Cho as she pulled Hermione into a twirl.

Her dance partner laughed. "And we're easily forgotten."

Cho craned her neck back and watched the twins momentarily break free from a group of witches. "Oh, I don't know," she smiled knowingly. " _You_  might have left an impression."

Hermione made a conscious effort not to follow Cho's gaze. Instead, her eyes locked on another Weasley leaning casually against the bar. Charlie grinned and raised a glass in her direction. Even with his tie and collar wrangled loose, he looked impressively done-up. Cho glanced at the bar and chuckled. "You're quite popular with them. The Weasley men."

Hermione's cheeks grew a brighter shade of pink. "We have… history," she murmured as they eased into a slow song.

Cho's eyes widened as she remembered, belatedly, something she'd heard about the final battle. "I'm so sorry 'Mione," she said in a hushed voice, worry heavy on her brow. "I forgot that you were with—"

"Oh!" Hermione stopped and shook her head furiously. "No, no-"  _don't say the name out loud._ "I didn't mean  _that_  far, just… recently."

"Oh," said Cho, tilting her head to stare. "Well, that's good, right?" she continued, confused but obliging. She gave Hermione a kind smile. "I'm glad you're able to… to still have something with them."

_Something._

Hermione's laugh sounded hollow to her own ears. She sighed and focused her gaze forward. "No point dwelling on 'could've been's, is there?"

This time Cho blushed and looked away. "No there isn't."

They danced in silence for the remainder of the song, Hermione's thoughts drifting through random memories of their Hogwarts years. Cho, meanwhile, was musing on the present. Curious and emboldened, Cho faced her companion again. "Are you happy?"

Hazel eyes darkened at the question and squeezed Cho's hand. Hermione pursed her lips for a long moment before slowly nodding. "Yes," she said at last. "I suppose I am."

Cho studied her for a long moment before closing the gap with her dance partner and leaning in close. "The choice," she whispered against Hermione's ear. "It's why you asked me to come, isn't it?"

The question shouldn't have surprised her as much as it did. Cho was Ravenclaw, afterall, and it wouldn't have been hard for her to connect the dots. She let her eyes close as an immense weight lifted from her shoulders. "Yes," she replied simply.  _Because you understand._

Cho nodded and smiled kindly. "Well, I'm glad you did." Her lips brushed lightly against Hermione's cheek before she stepped back, her hands sliding from Hermione.

The song came to an end.

"I'll be at the bar if you need me."

Hermione frowned at her quickly departing form. She was about to follow when she felt  _him_ , standing behind her. He cleared his throat and she took a moment to mentally steel herself.

"Hermione?"

She felt his hand wrap lightly around her wrist and tug her gently around to face him. Slowly, she obliged, and her eyes lifted to a wide grin and laughing eyes. His brow raised in amusement as he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. "May I have the pleasure-?"

Fred had a magnificent smile. It was impossible to  _not_  smile in return. He took that as a yes and hooked her arm on his, escorting her off the dance floor and out onto the balcony. Her smile widened as she caught the disapproving glares from the handful of witches that Fred had excused himself from. The door closed behind them and the noise from the party immediately muffled. Fred scooped up two cloaks from a nearby chair.

"Thank you," said Hermione as he threw one over her shoulder and clasped it loosely at her neck.

"Of course," he bowed with some flourish and wrapped the second cloak around himself. "Your well-being is important to me." Their eyes met as he said this and a breath escaped Hermione's lips at the apparent duality of his words. Her smile faded.

"You don't have to."

He took a step forward. "But I do."

Irritation bristled at his insistence. "I'll not have you feel  _obligated_  to—"

"I'm not," he cut in. There was equal irritation on his face but his voice remained steady and sincere. " _Hermione_ …"

She shivered at the way her name rolled off his lips and took a step back. He followed her.

"I'm not acting out of  _obligation_. I'm much too selfish for that."

She suddenly found it difficult to look at him.  _Please_ , she thought.  _Don't._

Sensing her hesitation, Fred paused and let his hands drop to his sides. A lone firework lit up the sky across the river and drew him to the edge of the balcony. He leaned against the railing with his back towards her.

Looking up at the night sky, he breathed in the crisp night air. "That night, when I saw you wi...  _I saw you_. Truly. For the first time." He turned slowly, casually, and leaned back on his elbows. But his eyes blazed with raw emotion. "You know, don't you? You must know."

Hermione's lips parted but she could only stare, wide-eyed.

His heart sank at her silence.

Fred shook his head and sighed. "But it isn't all of it. Of course not," he chuckled and the bitterness in it stung.

He drew himself up and sharpened his gaze on her. "I've gotten quite used to getting my way," he said vehemently. "And when the time came, I was sure I'd..." he scowled and ran a hand through his hair. "I don't like losing, Granger."

Hermione's nostrils flared at the accusation. "Well, I haven't a clue nor care for your games and I'd be happier if you kept me out of them, Fred Weasley!"

Fred visibly shrank at the sound of his name. "Yes," he said after a moment, disappointment evident in his voice. "I suppose you would."

He shook his head and curled his hands into fists. His normally bright, blue eyes greyed with a storm brewing within. "But I know something's going on with you. You can't deny that. And maybe you ARE keeping Harry and Ginny at a distance because of grief. Or loss. But he was  _my brother too_  and I know what I glimpsed of you that night was a different kind of pain." His fists clenched white and his fingernails dug into skin. "And you may not want to tell anyone, least of all me, but you should know that—"  _Closing yourself off is not the answer._ He licked his lower lip and raised his eyes slowly to hers. "I can help if you let me. No games. No teasing."

Hermione shivered. She'd clearly underestimated Fred's persistence and tenacity. Afterall, why should her personal struggle interest him beyond a brotherly sense of obligation? And yet, he hovered dangerously close to her truth. For a few, fleeting moments she imagined telling him about the Choice. But then she realized how ridiculous it would be: Magic was so ingrained into Fred's being that he practically lived and breathed it. He'd probably die without it. And even if he, somehow, genuinely sympathized with her struggle—

Her laugh was cold and sharp. "No,  _you can't_. You don't even— you  _can't_  possibly understand-"

"Try me. Please."

_Please._

It was that word again. Said with the same fragile undertone that seemed so unnatural coming from Fred Weasley. It was disconcerting and she looked away. "Time is running out," she whispered, as much to him as to herself.

"Time-?" Fred looked over her shoulder just as the crowd poured out onto the balcony, staring up at the night sky. More stray fireworks erupted along the Thames.

It was nearly midnight.

"You boys have a show planned for us?" one of the guests from the Ministry asked as she nudged her way beside Fred.

"No ma'am," replied Fred with a toothy grin, and the change in his tone was dramatic. "This was it, I'm afraid."

"I say, still a grand party!" exclaimed the senior witch and blew enthusiastically into a party horn. "With the best yet to come!"

The crowd on the balcony grew larger and Hermione cried out as her lower rib brushed uncomfortably against the railing.

"Sorry," mumbled Fred as he was pressed against her. He shifted so that he could brace an arm on either side of her, creating a wall between Hermione and the rest of the guests. Reflexively, she pulled her arms up and pressed them against his chest. His cloak fell around her and provided an extra layer of warmth.

"You're facing the wrong way, deary!" laughed the senior witch. "Though Mr. Weasley is certainly a fine sight to behold."

Hermione's cheeks and ears burned. Her fingers curled into Fred's shirt and she felt him tense in response. A huff escaped his lips. Around them, people started counting down aloud.

_10… 9…_

Trapped, Hermione turned around to face the Thames. She tried not to tense against the lean but strong form pressed _not_ unpleasantly against her back. She placed her hands on the cold railing. His left hand immediately slid next to hers, his thumb lightly brushing against her pinky.

_3... 2..._

The sky above the Thames burst into a cacophony of fireworks; the sheer magnitude and force of the explosions at such close proximity jarring. The balcony shook as people all around them jumped and cheered.

"HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

Her eyes widened with awe at the spectacular light show that threatened to blind or choke her with the massive accumulation of smoke in the air. Her entire body hummed with the thrill and the excitement- and the feel of a warm hand casually running down her arm.

She turned, beaming, and was pleased to see a proud grin on Fred's face. The senior witch was giving him a congratulatory pat on the back and his eyes sparkled with the reflected light of the illuminated sky.

People were singing from the street below. Hermione chewed on her lower lip for a moment before, decided, she raised a hand tentatively to Fred's cheek. She would not let the new year start with a sour note between them. It wouldn't be right. His eyes snapped on her immediately and he flinched as if her touch burned.

Doubt. He doubted her and she couldn't blame him.

"Happy new year, Fred." Hermione said gently, her eyes darting from his eyes to his lips. She made the choice to slide her hand into his hair, curl her fingers in ginger strands and pull him down, slowly. She wrapped her other arm around his shoulders and curled herself up against him in a warm embrace.

After a moment, his body relaxed into hers and she smiled, victorious. His breath tickled her ear.  _"Hermione."_

She closed her eyes and tightened the embrace. She felt his arms wrap just above her waist.

After a moment, she began to pull away. But his hands fell to her waist and stayed firm, keeping her close. Their cheeks brushed against each other and his breath was hot against her skin. "Fred," she said softly as she tilted her head towards him.

Half-lidded eyes lifted to hers and she gasped at the sudden closeness of his lips to hers. " _Fred_ ," she repeated, but didn't try to pull away.

The loud and brightly lit world dimmed around them. Hermione's eyes fluttered closed as her lips brushed lightly against his.  _It's okay. Just this once…_

Fred's fingers dug into her waist and pulled her against him, pressing his lips fiercely against hers. Lights exploded behind Hermione's closed eyelids. It felt every bit as if Fred was trying to tell her—to make her  _feel_ his—

Someone wolf-whistled in the crowd. Fred jerked back and his eyes went wide with disbelief. He'd been certain she'd have shoved him away. Cursed him, even. The reality, though, quickly settled in and a smug grin spread across his face. His eyes shone with renewed mischief.

"Happy new year, Hermione Granger."

She bit down hard on her lower lip, trying but failing to glare disapprovingly. Fred's smile was so irresistibly contagious that she couldn't stop the smile spreading across her own face.

And if not for the train of guests immediately wanting to shake his hand, congratulate him, and wish him a good year… Fred might have noticed that the smile didn't quite reach Hermione's eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you to all you lovely readers for your patience! Since this was a direct continuation of the last chapter, I was able to flesh out the chapter in record time! I thought about sitting on it for another week or so to brood on it in case I changed my mind -- but then I went 'nahhh'! This chapter contained the one scene I'd been struggling to get to for 10 chapters. There'll probably be 2-4 more chapters, depending on how 'long' I end up writing them. I'm so pleased to say the end is in sight!


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